❝ PLEASE --------- my mother used to grow these . ❞ bushel of roses within frost - touched arms , nightingale’s lilt escapes from this swan’s throat . ( * SHE HOLDS ONE FOR HIM , THE GOWN SHE WEARS RUSTLING ‘GAINST THE GROUND AS SHE MOVES CLOSER . ) chin tilts * & her lips curl upwards , stopping before cheeks become bee - stung . ❝ if you would like one , i am sure that no one would notice . ❞ // @irondecay










