Harness my sexual temper and the machine of organic living beings will yield
the helm to my discretion. I would then say: Tis no lite matter to make such
messes of the consumated whole when burning in my pants is the future of a
soul.
Prisoner of love's yang
the beatiful potential
of the volatile season of femaginal innocence
is hastened to a close by the brasive scent of male's
yearning.
the helm to my discretion. I would then say: Tis no lite matter to make such
messes of the consumated whole when burning in my pants is the future of a
soul.
Prisoner of love's yang
the beatiful potential
of the volatile season of femaginal innocence
is hastened to a close by the brasive scent of male's
yearning.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
i hope you made it back home safely. i miss you
love,
your master
p.s.
no more candy for you or you'll be headed straight for cavityville.