I Sit Under a Purple Sky
I sit under a purple sky. The twinkling lights of fireflies are dazzling as Vienna stretching out below Saint Stephen’s. I can hear my breathing like a breeze on the eve of a summer storm. A lone cigar ember glows, a beating heart in a fragile darkness. My thoughts are lonely and honest. Lightning flickers with silent violence. The air is calm and heavy. A beautiful tension like strangers alone in a hotel room. The hour is indifferent. And the wine is soft on my tongue, like a woman’s.
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