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Styles May 29
In this moment, I am both an observer and a participant, feeling every ounce of her pleasure as if it were my own. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of us in this private, electric connection, where every sigh and moan feels like a secret shared between lovers.
Styles May 29
As I watch, a part of me wants to step into the room, to be a part of this intimate scene, to feel the heat of her skin and the intensity of her passion up close. But I stay rooted to the spot, captivated by the beauty and vulnerability before me, my own breath syncing with hers, the space between us charged with unspoken desire.
Styles May 29
The way her fingers move, deft and confident, sends a shiver down my spine. I can’t tear my eyes away, drawn in by the rhythm of her movements and the soft, intoxicating sounds escaping her lips. Every touch seems to ignite her more, her body arching and trembling in response.
Styles May 29
My breath catches as I take in the sight, an unexpected rush of heat spreading through my body. Her eyes are closed, lost in the pleasure she’s giving herself, completely unaware of my presence. I feel a mix of awe and desire, mesmerized by the raw intimacy of the moment.
Zywa May 24
The Golden House, all

golden houses are beliefs --

in an illusion.
Novel "The Golden House" (2017, Salman Rushdie), chapter (1-) 2

Domus Aurea (Golden House) of emperor Nero in Rome

Collection "Low gear"
Lieke May 13
Laying still on my side of the bed
Won’t open my eyes, won’t turn my head

Our pages lie defeated on the floor
Kisses on the wall but ink on the door

Love I refuse to share with new
And so remain reserved for you.

It gives me peace, we tasted forever
Cuddled to dreams, before we severed

My heart smiles only to your touch
Your empty gloves I tightly clutch

As we twirl the days into blank unknown
I sing our song, ‘cause it’s ours to own

I sing and I cry
Teardrops burning dry

‘Till I finally dare look
At the ashes of our book

We pick up our pens in slow-motion glory
And continue to write, each our own story

Our hearts beating on to the rhythm of our metronome
Now, I must leave, but I won’t forget home.
Thomas Harvey May 12
I open my eyes but am blind to the sea
My ears are filled with myths
For no creature could lurk in the abyss
Perhaps I should have paid the fee

The air is denser than it was yesterday
The sun is refusing to shine
And the lonely sea continues to whine
Six more nights till I see May

I try to sleep at day
To be prepared during nightfall
That’s when I hear him call
Five more nights till I see may

I’m getting closer I think
Based on my supply of food
It’s not lot looking to good
One more night, I say on the brink

He waited for me to reach the bay
Where he rose larger than the sun
There I knew I was done
Here I almost made it to May
Thomas Harvey May 12
I strum a chord on an old guitar
I look out and see one old man at the bar
It’s quite common for no one to be here
That’s become one of my fears

After the show, the man looked into my eyes
As if he was feeding from all my lies
He asked if I could do no better
Then he left me with a letter

The letter contained every detail of my life
It even described me dying to a knife
But it can’t be real, it just doesn’t sit well
Could this really be hell?

When I look in the mirror, my bodies on fire
My eyes burn in tune with desire
Yet when I step away, the flames extinguish
And I’m left only in pain and anguish

Then I awake from the same fever dream
In hopes of learning what it means
So, I pick up a guitar and play a track
But I feel a sharp pain, as I fall, with a knife lodged in my back
always the same
and never the better

you run a fool’s game,
always playing with
the lever.

ready to pull down,
ready to go,

the deepest
pockets of your mind,
an ebb and flow.

misery loves company,
at least one more
this time

always cyclical, and round
and round you go,

emotional chaos
that you hope to

but the storm’s ragin’
and you’re comfortable

with a little rain

because you know
stories aren’t told
without a little
suffering sometimes.
When life gets hard
He begins to smile
For he knows, you can’t cook without lard
And he’d rather walk home then walk a mile

When sunny days disappear
He folds his umbrella away
And follows up, with an afternoon beer
For even the rain doesn’t get in his way

For when he’s fired and put out on the street
He walks up town to buy a car
And then a house for somewhere to sleep
Later he even goes to the bar

Once he was struck by lightening
Then hit by a bus
You know what he said was more frightening
Being in the hospital and seeing all of us

A man who stands his ground
Whose determination knows no bounds
A man that’s been found
And also, a man that should be crowned
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