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Oh, realm of the wicked, where dreams drop from hands like droppings from the bottom of a bird; there is much admiration to stick upon beauty to admire; why withhold what should be offered? Love will lift it, beyond the realm of Men, where flesh is torn and raped. Faces are many that stare with…
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“Your eyes, magnificent in shape; your form is a plaza of many stands, each showing ripened fruit for the occasion; and how I would hold a pair of breasts alike pears to be swallowed whole.”
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Too many damnable kisses,Brought thorns to make me bleed,And the face that holds a rose,Between two lips colored by cherry.A sweetness mingles over your form,And all I feel is the seduction. I dart with disarray against your eyes,Those that show glare against mine,Great beauty of feminine doom,Show me your way of a common demise,Rotted are…
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Hope is a well that springs eternally the warmth of possibility. Though, for each individual possibility, there should be a guide so that further loss is not eventual, and never inevitable. A leader, that is, should reassure the sorrowful that there is greater light than such a hopeless one can ever consume, to fill whatever…
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“Where loss encourages the will for survival, a human will each believe that there is more to do, more to gain, and more for the stride. Such is how life functions, in contrast to the forced contentment from death. Or, in love? How does love also evoke the stillness of gratitude?” She is the waltzer…
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“Beauty rapidly falls apart when it is not sustained by the support of love.”
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A woman’s heart is to me, the cherished stone. I walk from where I sat, to her face, and bury only myself in her tears. They come out from dark eyes as sweet to taste, for she is happy! Happiness! So alien was the word, whenever I’d writhe in a torment back in my home.…
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Curiosity creates envy. Envy creates lust. Lust creates pride, even should an accomplishment not be made.
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There is much to adore of a form so raw with flesh. She shows bravery by walking to a place where she may admire her form. As I peer through this window to see her, I may watch the breasts move upwards, as she steers such a form. I may see her cheeks with redness…
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
Modern Romanticism 