Bastien Wolff
Yet the silver tongue and fingers of the most accomplished of men
Shall lust and hound for your heart into the wild blue of tomorrow
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Bastien breathed the slightest brush of a kiss to the fingers placed in his palm, "Miss Random, I am a poet by trade, and yet I have not the words to chronicle how utterly exquisite you look today. Please forgive my frail and clumsy tongue for such presumption as to dare speak to you, but might I request of you your passions and favoured pasttimes?" He kept his hand steady, acknowledging that the poor girl looks a bit weak about the knees. His gaze enveloped her leg a touch longer than was necessary, but promptly returned to her face before the length entered the realm of the obscene. His eyes flicked over her face, inscribing each feature to his mind for a later date, should he choose her to be muse to his pen.
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Tomorrow, my love; nothing now here shall be left in that end,
but the wiles of the heart and the heat of the absence.