I but a poet of Gothic strychnine with words of darkness you define, as your maiden lips deceive me with your tongue of asp clasped, clasped about my shadow. As your chatoyant eyes reflect, reflect my preamble of prose, I feel your cunt grasp my woes as if a haunting of the cello, like odd curios, the bow and me.
from Lush Stories - latest Sex Stories https://ift.tt/2m96ApD
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