From her glass of red wine she takes a sip of the evening sun.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNFrom her glass of red wine she takes a sip of the evening sun.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNNight time thoughts lead nowhere but into melancholy.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNIt’s January, it’s cold and I search the sky for summer like I always do.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNI lost and found myself in all your maybe’s.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNKiss the words from my lips like a love poem.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNI search for summer in every corner of september.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNIt’s January, it’s cold and I search the sky for summer like I always do.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNThe open road is the wanderer’s wonderland.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNSpring is poetry poured into nature.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNWe fell in love because we were both summer souls.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNDon’t fall for someone who doesn’t have a spark of wild in their eyes.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNAll my summer memories sparkle in riverbed reflections.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNHe was the hope that died with the last day of summer.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNIn her empty wine of glass, there’s a world of lost dreams.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNIt’s not songs that remind me of lost lovers. It’s poems.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANNHer afternoon tea is a fountain of daydreams.
MARIE-KRISTIN HOFMANN