Nights like this I remember black love. When it was a sense of peace and understanding. Whether it be the feeling of fresh grass underneath our feet after a first kiss. Or the smell of your skin and the midnight air in August. The sound of your voice over a song from my childhood. Or the taste of your irish beer on my whiskey tongue. Moments so gentle and so smooth. Which sense belonged to you?
Heart of a Ghost
Viva La Milliee 