burning stacks of sunset-coloured leaves me whistful for playground rules all the serfs like a tyrant on the run from your problems and you will be free with regular purchase it's a steal your heart with a three-pronged fork in the road less travelled far away from her heart and mouth were not on intimate terms of endearment
Yours,
I
If I were a moment of peace, I would be...resting my head on his belly
No comments:
Post a Comment