As your lips of gossamer touch my soul Weaving me new poet's clothes Feeling the winding threads of gold As autumn leaves fall in the woods Of oak and thyme, lusting for you So fair the ribbons in your hair Flowing on a pillow of an angel's down With spiritual winds praying for sins And if my only transgression is loving you Then I am a poet with a wardrobe of gold Weaving me new
from Lush Stories - latest Sex Stories http://bit.ly/2P4iv5n
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