Saturday, 3 April 2010

Dance, Dance, Dance till they drop

fire[11]

dance

 

 

 

 

 

They are chandeliers, gold gilt stairs in great halls, clothes from the bloody fingers of seamstress blinded by candlelight. Living to a dead music that sways, rises and falls as they will.  We dance by the fire of the night, hips shaking and caressing for the flesh of the willing.

Random Word: Dancing at the revolution


1 comment:

Welcome and thanks for dropping in. I'll pop by yours by and by.

This blog was inspired by First 50 words where you freewrite from a single word prompt. I use random words or images to create flash fiction in formats ranging from twitter postcards to short short stories.