His son is having another nightmare - the man again wakes his son
Latina. The son this time says that he had dreamt that granddaddy had died.
. . Colors of varied hues reaching through the windows
Down to the core of the soul
I have played melodies with my fingers
Over delicate curves and into sublime valleys
Breathing in essences that, in me - compels my hand
The torrent of emotions that scar so beautifully
Engulfs so completely and renders every resistance so uniquely obsolete
Seeping along the sights and sounds
Movements and cadences of agony
Such agony – such music
Beyond measure of time as pleasure laces punishment
And pain evolves into excitement and exhilaration
A staccato of gasps and moans between cracks and whistles
Tremors that not only wrack the edges of consciousness
But beat their rhythm on the very soul
When sight no longer leads the blurry lights
And speech no longer the mundane, but
A deep enticing conversation of purrs, growls and moans
Restraints that free the soul to explore the boundaries
For in this hand I hold your surrender
And in the other
I hold your love
His son is having another nightmare - the man again wakes his son
Latina. The son this time says that he had dreamt that granddaddy had died.
. . Colors of varied hues reaching through the windows
Down to the core of the soul
I have played melodies with my fingers
Over delicate curves and into sublime valleys
Breathing in essences that, in me - compels my hand
The torrent of emotions that scar so beautifully
Engulfs so completely and renders every resistance so uniquely obsolete
Seeping along the sights and sounds
Movements and cadences of agony
Such agony – such music
Beyond measure of time as pleasure laces punishment
And pain evolves into excitement and exhilaration
A staccato of gasps and moans between cracks and whistles
Tremors that not only wrack the edges of consciousness
But beat their rhythm on the very soul
When sight no longer leads the blurry lights
And speech no longer the mundane, but
A deep enticing conversation of purrs, growls and moans
Restraints that free the soul to explore the boundaries
For in this hand I hold your surrender
And in the other
I hold your love
His son is having another nightmare - the man again wakes his son
Latina. The son this time says that he had dreamt that granddaddy had died.
. . Colors of varied hues reaching through the windows
Down to the core of the soul
I have played melodies with my fingers
Over delicate curves and into sublime valleys
Breathing in essences that, in me - compels my hand
The torrent of emotions that scar so beautifully
Engulfs so completely and renders every resistance so uniquely obsolete
Seeping along the sights and sounds
Movements and cadences of agony
Such agony – such music
Beyond measure of time as pleasure laces punishment
And pain evolves into excitement and exhilaration
A staccato of gasps and moans between cracks and whistles
Tremors that not only wrack the edges of consciousness
But beat their rhythm on the very soul
When sight no longer leads the blurry lights
And speech no longer the mundane, but
A deep enticing conversation of purrs, growls and moans
Restraints that free the soul to explore the boundaries
For in this hand I hold your surrender
And in the other
I hold your love
Slutty Lesbians Fill Up Their Oversized Arses With Cream And