Shadow of Musette

Imagine the tea and bamboo holding a silent vigil in the twilight falling. A haunting breath and shadow of Musette. Harvesting my soul with every sip of her tongue quietly. Suspended in the bamboo a mysterious melancholia. As she drops her silk robe soundlessly and moves towards me, her bare feet touching the wooden floorboards with the delicacy of a whisper. Her fingers trailing the edges of my flesh, unbuttoned, by the cold of her skin arching her hips. Promising me eternity. “You have been waiting for this haven’t you,” As her breath pulls me in to her salavtion’s frontal anatomy. Closer still, to the tea leaves.