She held a bright red poppy in her hand, as if she was dripping with blood. She looked at the man in front of her and vaguely remembered the old songs from her past.
The man's eyes were as cold and unbridled as poppies, like a beautiful poisonous snake in the dark.
She smiled slightly, traced his thin lips with her fingertips, and kept murmuring in a low voice.
He was silent, his Adam's apple rolled up and down
The moonlight lit up the remaining tears in the corners of the woman's eyes. Why was she crying...