Tuesday, 18 November 2014

The Voice.

Shut out the drums, the guitar, and every other instrument.
Go beyond the lyrics and their meaning.
Focus on the voice.
The Voice. Something about it. Something very unique. 
Yet one cannot put a finger on that one thing.

This voice, evokes images of dark silk bed linen,
tossed and tangled with white cotton bed sheets,
images of a mixture of molten dark chocolate,
and raw unprocessed honey.
Luscious. Sticky. Sweet. As dark as sin.

The voice that evokes images of long walks through vineyards at dawn,
and lazy walks along the beach at dusk.
images of azure skies, golden sun rays and cotton-puff clouds,
of pitch black night skies with diamonds of stars strewn across their breadth.

That type of voice that gets you hooked,
Even when you don't comprehend what is being said.

The kind of voice that evokes images of tall, dark, sexy brothers,
Riding bareback on equally sexy dark horses.

Fine looking gentlemen in tailor made Italian suits,
holding intelligent conversations in the saloon,
the fat cigars,
precariously hanging from the corners of the mouths of some of the gents,
creating a mysterious haze in the room,
and a thick concoction of cigar, whiskey, aftershave and cologne scents,
hanging in the air.

Breathtakingly sexy male, clad in only distressed denims,
padding barefooted around the house,
with a 'wicked' gleam in his eyes,
and a bottle of bubbly and two flute glasses in hand,
walking towards the bedroom.

Images of peaches and cream,
grapes and cheese.
The voice.
Dark, gruff. fluid. sexy. beautiful. male