Your voice sounds like a midnight fire. All warm and worn in and golden. I could listen to you talk forever.” “I could never do that”. She laughed at him. He brought his lips to her ear. “Your scent is like violets early in spring,” he whispered. Then he laughed at himself because though it was true, he sounded like the worst kind of fool.

Your voice sounds like a midnight fire. All warm and worn in and golden. I could listen to you talk forever.” “I could never do that”. She laughed at him. He brought his lips to her ear. “Your scent is like violets early in spring,” he whispered. Then he laughed at himself because though it was true, he sounded like the worst kind of fool.

– Veronica Rossi –

Under the Never Sky

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