I have an iris, a sixty dollar iris named Dracula's kiss. He waits for me in the garden at dusk every evening, when the grass is silver and the air drips with the scent of iris, lilac, and fresh mown lawn. He whispers nothings as he silkily caresses my cheek, intoxicating my senses one by one. He's the color of grape suckers, darkly glistening, a blood red streak falling down his chin.
Yes, that is a dab of purple on my nose, spotted by the wily eyes of inexperience. Why do I have a purple nose? It goes dashed well with the purple prose:)
A blog where a writer writes and does other artful stuff.
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