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High ground I concede to you in the disproportion of a time allotted to you for the choice of robe to grace a glorified cameo around your flesh like a sheet designated for an overthrowing in an honorary statue's unveiling Liturgy is looming in the bathroom already hot-boxed in the metal waterfall's mist of moisture and the mountain range of bubbles I have settled comfortably into in wait High ground awaits your hallowed prance into the concealed languish of your man's dangling imagination I salute you with incentive through a lowering of eyes made necessary by your towering above my horizontal soak I'm beseeching you to wield royal sway over the humility of my reclined posture with the hidden scepter of your body fated to dictate the pace of my anticipated knighting The gentle thud of fabric on linoleum incites a turning of my head to take in the litany of parts available to my frenetic feels and jumbled focus Stationary in your naked smile of proximity you extend to me excessive time to entertain options as I coat myself in lukewarm opportunities and rise to meet you for a bathing in my excess wetness I accelerate my exit to negate the bubbled tribuataries sliding to the floor to meet the remnants of your mystery The wall is cold and you protrude haplessly to meet the rapid chilling of my undried frame Warmth is of the essence Fingers split your hair in celebration of our uniform heights and I feel you slouch signalling our first hint of friction and a twitch in my diviner of your cradle of essential warmth Do you realize you now rescind creative license? Or have you filled the snare of your intentions? Now your balance shivers in the mercy of my curled leg of leverage and an coiled arm collecting your ambrosial attributes like an ice cream scoop Uniform heights allowing eye contact makes optional the visual acknowledgment of my elastic hunting in the smooth field of your breast with a dancing thumb I connect and latch onto what is now our binding axis and shuffle eye contact with the universal rhythm of a pelvic power ballad
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Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
HOW TO FIND PERSONALITY INSIDE A UNIFORM
High ground I concede to you in the disproportion of a time allotted to you for the choice of robe to grace a glorified cameo around your flesh like a sheet designated for an overthrowing in an honorary statue's unveiling Liturgy is looming in the bathroom already hot-boxed in the metal waterfall's mist of moisture and the mountain range of bubbles I have settled comfortably into in wait High ground awaits your hallowed prance into the concealed languish of your man's dangling imagination I salute you with incentive through a lowering of eyes made necessary by your towering above my horizontal soak I'm beseeching you to wield royal sway over the humility of my reclined posture with the hidden scepter of your body fated to dictate the pace of my anticipated knighting The gentle thud of fabric on linoleum incites a turning of my head to take in the litany of parts available to my frenetic feels and jumbled focus Stationary in your naked smile of proximity you extend to me excessive time to entertain options as I coat myself in lukewarm opportunities and rise to meet you for a bathing in my excess wetness I accelerate my exit to negate the bubbled tribuataries sliding to the floor to meet the remnants of your mystery The wall is cold and you protrude haplessly to meet the rapid chilling of my undried frame Warmth is of the essence Fingers split your hair in celebration of our uniform heights and I feel you slouch signalling our first hint of friction and a twitch in my diviner of your cradle of essential warmth Do you realize you now rescind creative license? Or have you filled the snare of your intentions? Now your balance shivers in the mercy of my curled leg of leverage and an coiled arm collecting your ambrosial attributes like an ice cream scoop Uniform heights allowing eye contact makes optional the visual acknowledgment of my elastic hunting in the smooth field of your breast with a dancing thumb I connect and latch onto what is now our binding axis and shuffle eye contact with the universal rhythm of a pelvic power ballad
steven-fortune
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Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
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