Torn pages never return quite the same their distortion by the lines each word up and down even when joint they don't join they need just one push to be torn again the temporary glue can't hold them long.
The feel of skin on skin, The feeling of clothes being pulled torn off, The push of her hands to make me move, The feel of her hands trailing over my body, The tingle the leave, The feel of luxurious lips kissing my skin, The final push the gasp of pleasure, The joining of two hearts and soul, The glorious Ecstasy.
Have me i'm yours. Take me i'm yours. Own my i'm yours.
I'm the anarchist judging all those hypocrites You're the hypocrite judging all those anarchists There is a thin line between guys like you and I We share a...Similar scene, though Filled with...Sin-ful Misfits. Clean cut suits, or ripped jeans Baby, it doesn't matter to me... No time to flatter, its time for the crime Of justifiable homicide.