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slaveblanc
A form of illusion, of dream, of something that is inaccessible due to your personality as a woman and person, of course your beauty is easy to worship, but the one who writes is a man and person who confesses his inferiority before your presence and supremacy and the pride, honor that I feel for having the privilege of your contact, I am trembling writing imagining your eyes and voice and glimpsing such beauty and what I saw in my soul. Grateful for being able to have this gift and be accepted fully, where I never thought I could feel.
GarotoSafado4567
Ohana, or as I like to imagine you, Mona Lisa, Capitu, or any other woman who was once art. I am always hypnotized by your smile, I travel in your gaze, and I am captivated by your mouth. As I said today, with you, my mind is divided. I am romantic, a poet, a philosopher, but also carnal, weak, surrendered. I don't know which side I listen to. I look for your eyes, your mind, but I imagine your body, sculpted art, the object of my desire. I end by saying that this is how I see your eyes: “No image comes to mind capable of saying, without compromising the dignity of style, what they were and did to me. Eyes of a hangover? Well, of a hangover. That's what gives me the idea of that new feature. They brought with them I don't know what mysterious and energetic fluid, a force that dragged one inward, like the wave that retreats from the beach, on days of a hangover.”
