He stood at the foot of the grave, gloved hands clasped behind him, his dark clothes and hair blending into one black silhouette, as if he were not a presence but an absence, a hole cut out of the landscape.
Leo leaned forward and met her soft lips. Their first underwater kiss created bubbles that floated lazily to the surface. Audrey ran her fingers through his coarse hair, and they lingered until his lungs were bursting.
Of course, you were crowned with laurel in the beginning, your gold hair was wreathed with laurel, but the gold is thinning and the laurel has withered. Face it – pitiful monster.
She touched him everywhere she could reach. The rounded hardness of his biceps and chest, the ripped contours of his back, his thick, damp hair, until touching with his hands wasn't enough.
Who says that fictions only and false hair Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty? Is all good structure in a winding stair?
Tumbling-hair picker of buttercups violets dandelions And the big bullying daisies through the field wonderful with eyes a little sorry Another comes also picking flowers
Blonde hair drawn into a no-nonsense bun, her new manicure the deep red of fresh blood, she’d even donned a blouse and slacks for the occasion, something Neve had forgotten Veronica owned.
Jessica was clearly in her element, moving with the music naturally and without effort. Even her lustrous golden hair swayed to the beat, completing the perfect picture of a dancer caught up in ecstasy.
The justification for rap rock seems to be that if you take really bad rock and put really bad rap over it, the result is somehow good, provided the raps are barked by an overweight white guy with cropped hair and forearm tattoos.
He tangles his hand in my hair, and the other cups my jaw. Although I have this all planned, his lips feel shockingly sweet, swollen and soft, and more like home every time
Love is a trumpet, Donald Trump’s hair, and a turnip all turned up and facing west. Sorry, east. I am looking in a mirror, so it’s all reversed.
There’s a hair in my food! Well, I did order all the cuddles I can eat. A buffet of sleep is how I describe my love to strangers on trains.
Matty blinked. 'You're passing up for ?' 'You're bitching about ?' Rob countered. 'I feel so torn!' Matty pulled at his hair. 'Oh my god. You suck.
Love should be unconditional, while hair should be conditioned. Air should also be conditioned, and worn in place of hairnets.
She had blonde hair like spaghetti noodles, and then she went and dyed it marinara. But I loved her like I enjoy all-you-can-eat pasta buffets.
You can still be cool when you’re dead. In fact, it’s much easier, because you aren’t getting old and fat and losing your hair.
In her daydreams, they aged miraculously, she still trim with a blond ponytail, standing next to her strong, tall husband with his thick, curly dark hair and straight white teeth. Money was never an issue.
Although initially only few in numbers, it seems my gray hairs have launched an effective peer-pressure campaign intended to convert the others.
However," he continued, "this canvas is preferable to the paintings of that varlet Rubens, with his mountains of Flemish flesh sprinkled with vermilion, his waves of red hair and his medley of colors.
He relaxed his hands, lifted one and tucked a strand of wispy blonde hair behind her ear. She didn’t move; she only looked at him. He wondered if she felt it too.
A little thing, like children putting flowers in my hair, can fill up the widening cracks in my self-assurance like soothing lanolin.
