Ocsana
What colours
Were ever more meant,
Then crimson on snow
And raven black strands?
Sea green trickling
To a rose cupids bow.
And blue lines map,
To that pulse by the neck.
Crimson on Snow
Angel's Breath
The yearnings of a mischievous angel.
Ocsana
What colours
Were ever more meant,
Then crimson on snow
And raven black strands?
Sea green trickling
To a rose cupids bow.
And blue lines map,
To that pulse by the neck.
