the word of god is endless sex. Glorious orgasm unfurled across the nighttime sky.
This is dedicated to the thing I love, a gift to the Prettiest One. may she touch me unending in the places she knows best, till my cup runneth over her immaculate face of a copulating angel, my spark slurped up inside.
the red rose grail of life lies imprisoned neath her panties. "Liberation! Liberation!", it seems to cry.
I want a kind of worshipfullness, strong praise that overpowers me, makes me their dominant slave
islands sinking in to continents, breaking the boundaries of self, flesh meets gaping flesh.
Sod off you stupid prick! You poor seed pods have nothing to offer me. Take your anti-clit and leave.
meer fantasy, painful dreams of land of no bad sex, shades of a woman I once wanted you to be.
Can we hurt sex? with our shouting and jealousie and seething rage Do we make sex feel dirty?
We want it, we loathe it, we praise it, we fear it, we wouldn't live life without it. a thousand times more profound than your death, every time
Beauty whole, descent in to gushing halls of delight. My cock is knife, please sheath me before I draw blood.
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