In the morning .... And always ...

There are women in whom the breed is read, and I’m not at all about sharp clavicles, or a fine line of cheekbones, it may be those who have dignity and elegance in their manners grafted forcibly, and not donated by nature itself, which is a posteriori different from what I interpret. the breed is not in the eyes, but in the look, not in the smooth lines of the figure, but in gait. the way she gives her hand in greeting, and how eloquently says goodbye to the object of tender love, leaving a hateful trail of incompleteness in the air, how passionately she gives herself and how vehemently she hates if you crossed her path. the breed is not in deliberate mannerism, but in the naturalness of alluring movements. aroma of exceptional perfume crashing into the memory and seen only at the moment when she got too close. a noble shade of lipstick, the ability to listen, parry only in moments when you personally turned to her, in order to hear the desired opinion. selectivity in connections, cold mind, burning heart capable of love. sensuality not conspicuous. sexuality devoid of closeness and an open desire to show it, noticeable in the light touch of the neckline, the timbre of the voice, or freesson from listening to a favorite composition.