Beau De Casanove :
"Charlotte"
She is my beating, jumping heart. She is the end of suffering, alas. She is beautiful, beautified, beyond compare. She is the stars with no care. She is the lilies of the field, the daffodils that swing, sway, and dance.
Upon the breeze, her eyes are like a universal, spiralling, inner-outer blush, a dawning, azure bloom. Her skin is as white as porcelain snow. Her feet, little and blue, roam. Her hands are tiny, with cold sweat. Her fingers are small, and her face is like the sun that eats you as you face it.
2026-04-22 12:22:11