'the smell of your hair and your curves; physique a goddess could only have your skin, sheep's wool could never equal beauty even venus would be jealous. as midnight is fast approaching, let our souls entwine, let the crimson satin cover our body, -as we danced to the sensual harmony. let our spirits fly to the peak of ecstasy, let the heat fade away.

nineteen. full of shit. 
'l+a