The Writers Well

The steam frothed fourth-generation champagne flute in my hand while musing on the heat in paris. To my fancy, my eyes in awe, softly glowing in the dark, colorful butterflies stringing around the trees romantically.

I leisurely rest my head back on a whim, closing my eyes. Soaking deeper in the wet hotness. Breathing in an agreeable aroma of roses dangling in the air. One last long inhale and I admire upon nature’s twinkle, the ritziest.

I take in my last sip feeling the symphony of hot springs gushing on my body. My mind, body, and soul are content and lavishing. This silky allurement is positively sinful to motivation.

Steam tenaciously is radiating under my catchy satin robe. And yes turning the lights off in paris exists. Every evening in the best way spa. It’s enclosed with cabana lights and private sun curtains. It’s a memorable retreat of hot tub vibes.