atragickiss16

In his head he's Baudelaire, in a dark silk suit and hand crafted boots of butter suede, and he's sitting in a cafe with leaves swirling around his feet, waiting for the girl of his dreams to drop from the bright blue morning and bloom under a red umbrella. He will whisper crimes and confess thoughts of chaos as she slowly pulls off her gloves and pours too much wine in his glass and tries to imagine how he tastes under his shirt. He will write her a poem - something about flowers, on a napkin and tuck it into her sleeve and wish he was running his hands under her petticoats. She will smile and wet her lips with the t