remember the breath, the sound, fragility, but what is essential to that breath in a feather falling from above, as a game of gravity, galleggiarne thought to fly on it, and what my memory, makes essence to your candor, in addition to this dreams can be feathers but if I did not your breath I can not fly. Soave gift is the dream, divine creature, to me that I act to the touch, give me vision that transpires, consciously in shaping profile to your form, Id love to caress those roses and those rubies, spogliarne of that mantle and steal the scent of thy womb, youll be perverse, Also this will do act, but I am a man like you meat, won by the desire ...
Posted on: Fri, 26 Dec 2014 15:53:00 +0000
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