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#snuggles
Yay! Some cold at last, and even a dusting of snow. We moved back into the dorm—braving knife-like breezes—yesterday. It was bracing and heroic - do I want it to warm up? That’s a hard no. let’s wax poetic.. Think not of winter as bleak wrap your steely bones warmly, wear a cap —for gelid wintertide can bind us together. Midwinter is the time o' the year to be warm hearted, to find a companion, a creature fair, a lass (or a manly man) and suggest a more temperate snuggle— it can do no harm to try. Think not of winter as bleak make sweet use of flattery, and face cold’s embrace likewise, cheek to cheek, with a warming and open heart. . . Snowbird by Rani Arbo & Daisy Mayhem We'll Sing In the Sunshine by Thornbirds
0
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
anaisvionet
bleak winter
Yay! Some cold at last, and even a dusting of snow. We moved back into the dorm—braving knife-like breezes—yesterday. It was bracing and heroic - do I want it to warm up? That’s a hard no. let’s wax poetic.. Think not of winter as bleak wrap your steely bones warmly, wear a cap —for gelid wintertide can bind us together. Midwinter is the time o' the year to be warm hearted, to find a companion, a creature fair, a lass (or a manly man) and suggest a more temperate snuggle— it can do no harm to try. Think not of winter as bleak make sweet use of flattery, and face cold’s embrace likewise, cheek to cheek, with a warming and open heart. . . Snowbird by Rani Arbo & Daisy Mayhem We'll Sing In the Sunshine by Thornbirds
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18
These are poems about dogs and doggerel about dogs... Dog Daze by Michael R. Burch Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler; he really is one of the best. Sometimes in bed he snuggles my head, though mostly he plops on my chest. I think Oz was made to love from the first ray of light to the dark, but his great love for me is exceeded (oh gee!) by his Truly Great Passion: to Bark. Epitaph for a Lambkin by Michael R. Burch for Melody, the prettiest, sweetest and fluffiest dog ever Now that Melody has been laid to rest Angels will know what it means to be blessed. Amen This Dog by Rabindranath Tagore loose translation/interpretation/moderniz     ation by Michael R. Burch Each morning this dog, who has become quite attached to me, sits silently at my feet until, gently caressing his head, I acknowledge his company. This simple recognition gives my companion such joy he shudders with sheer delight. Among all languageless creatures he alone has seen through man entire— has seen beyond what is good or bad in him to such a depth he can lay down his life for the sake of love alone. Now it is he who shows me the way through this unfathomable world throbbing with life. When I see his deep devotion, his offer of his whole being, I fail to comprehend... How, through sheer instinct, has he discovered whatever it is that he knows? With his anxious piteous looks he cannot communicate his understanding and yet somehow has succeeded in conveying to me out of the entire creation the true loveworthiness of man. My Dog Died by Pablo Neruda loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My dog died; so I buried him in the backyard garden next to some rusted machine. One day I'll rejoin him, over there, but for now he's gone with his shaggy mane, his crude manners and his cold, clammy nose, while I, the atheist who never believed in any heaven for human beings, now believe in a paradise I'm unfit to enter. Yes, I somehow now believe in a heavenly kennel where my dog awaits my arrival wagging his tail in furious friendship! But I'll not indulge in sadness here: why bewail a companion who was never servile? His friendship was more like that of a porcupine preserving its prickly autonomy. His was the friendship of a distant star with no more intimacy than true friendship called for and no false demonstrations: he never clambered over me coating my clothes with mange; he never assaulted my knee like dogs obsessed with *** But he used to gaze up at me, giving me the attention my ego demanded, while helping this vainglorious man understand my concerns were none of his. Aye, and with those bright eyes so much purer than mine, he'd gaze up at me contentedly; it was a look he reserved for me alone all his entire sweet, gentle life, always merely there, never troubling me, never demanding anything. Aye, and often I envied his energetic tail as we strode the shores of Isla Negra together, in winter weather, wild birds swarming skyward as my golden-maned friend leapt about, supercharged by the sea's electric surges, sniffing away wildly, his tail held ***** his face suffused with the salt spray. Joy! Joy! Joy! As only dogs experience joy in the shameless exuberance of their guiltless spirits. Thus there are no sad good-byes for my dog who died; we never once lied to each other. He died, he's gone, I buried him; that's all there is to it. Bed Head, or, the Ballad of Beth and her Fur Babies by Michael R. Burch When Beth and her babies prepare for “good night” sweet rituals of kisses and cuddles commence. First Wickett, the eldest, whose mane has grown light with the wisdom of age and advanced senescence is tucked in, “just right.” Then Mary, the mother, is smothered with kisses in a way that befits such an angelic missus. Then Melody, lambkin, and sweet, soulful Oz and cute, clever Xander all clap their clipped paws and follow sweet Beth to their high nightly roost where they’ll sleep on her head (or, perhaps, her caboose). Excoriation of a Treat Slave by Michael R. Burch I am his Highness’s dog at Kew. Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you? —Alexander Pope We practice our fierce Yapping, for when the treat slaves come they’ll grant Us our desire. (They really are that dumb!) They’ll never catch Us napping — our Ears pricked, keen and sharp. When they step into Our parlor, We’ll leap awake, and Bark. But one is rather doltish; he doesn’t understand the meaning of Our savage, imperial, wild Command. The others are quite docile and bow to Us on cue. We think the dull one wrote a poem about some Dog from Kew who never grasped Our secret, whose mind stayed think, and dark. It’s a question of obedience conveyed by a Lordly Bark. But as for playing fetch, well, that’s another matter. We think the dullard’s also as mad as any hatter and doesn’t grasp his duty to fling Us slobbery ***** which We’d return to him, mincingly, here in Our royal halls. Wickett by Michael R. Burch Wickett, sweet Ewok, Wickett, old Soul, Wicket, brave Warrior, though no longer whole . . . You gave us your All. You gave us your Best. You taught us to Love, like all of the Blessed Angels and Saints of good human stock. You barked the Great Bark. You walked the True Walk. Now Wickett, dear Child and incorrigible Duffer, we commend you to God that you no longer suffer. May you dash through the Stars like the Wickett of old and never feel hunger and never know cold and be reunited with all our Good Tribe — with Harmony and Paw-Paw and Mary beside. Go now with our Love as the great Choir sings that Wickett, our Wickett, has at last earned his Wings! The Resting Place by Michael R. Burch for Harmony Sleep, then, child; you were dearly loved. Sleep, and remember her well-loved face, strong arms that would lift you, soft hands that would move with love’s infinite grace, such tender caresses! ... When autumn came early, you could not stay. Now, wherever you wander, the wildflowers bloom and love is eternal. Her heart’s great room is your resting place. ... Await by the door her remembered step, her arms’ warm embraces, that gathered you in. Sleep, child, and remember. Love need not regret its moment of weakness, for that is its strength, And when you awaken, she will be there, smiling, at the Rainbow Bridge. Oz is the Boss! by Michael R. Burch Oz is the boss! Because? Because... Because of the wonderful things he does! He barks like a tyrant for treats and a hydrant; his voice far more regal than mere greyhound or beagle; his serfs must obey him or his yipping will slay them! Oz is the boss! Because? Because... Because of the wonderful things he does! Xander the Joyous by Michael R. Burch Xander the Joyous came here to prove: Love can be playful! Love can have moves! Now Xander the Joyous bounds around heaven, waiting for his mommies, one of the SEVEN ― the Seven Great Saints of the Great Canine Race who evangelize Love throughout all Time and Space. Amen Mary, Mary by Michael R. Burch Mary, Mary, sweet yet contrary, how do your puppies grow? With sugar and spice and everything nice, and Mama Beth loving them so! Lady’s Favor: Ye Noble Ballade of Sir Dog and the Butterfly by Michael R. Burch Sir was such a gallant man! When he saw his Lady cry and beg him to send her a Butterfly, what else could he do, but comply? From heaven, he found a Monarch regal and able to defy north winds and a chilly sky; now Sir has his wings and can fly! When our gallant little dog Sir was unable to live any longer, my wife Beth asked him send her a sign, in the form of a butterfly, that Sir and her mother were reunited and together in heaven. It was cold weather, in the thirties. We rarely see Monarch butterflies in our area, even in the warmer months. But after Sir had been put to sleep, to spare him any further suffering, Beth found a Monarch butterfly in our back yard. It appeared to be lifeless, but she brought it inside, breathed on it, and it returned to life. The Monarch lived with us for another five days, with Beth feeding it fruit juice and Gatorade on a Scrubbie that it could crawl over like a flower. Beth is convinced that Sir sent her the message she had requested. Solo’s Watch by Michael R. Burch Solo was a stray who found a safe place to stay with a warm and loving band, safe at last from whatever cruel hand made him flinch in his dreams. Now he wanders the clear-running streams that converge at the Rainbow’s End and the Bridge where kind Angels attend to all souls who are ready to ascend. And always he looks for those who hugged him and held him close, who kissed him and called him dear and gave him a home free of fear, to welcome them to his home, here. Buffy by Michael R. Burch Buffy is fluffy but never stuffy. Though she runs forever, she never gets huffy. The perfect puppy. Prince Kiwi the Great by Michael R. Burch Kiwi’s a pee-wee but incredibly bright: he sleeps half the day, pretending it’s night! Prince Kiwi commands us with his regal air: “Come, humans, and serve me, or I’ll yank your hair!” Kiwi cries “Kree! Kree!” when he wants to be fed ... suns, preens, flutters, showers, then it’s off to bed. Kiwi’s a pee-wee but incredibly bright: he sleeps half the day, pretending it’s night! Kiwi is our family’s green-cheeked parakeet. Parakeets need to sleep around 12 hours per day, hence the pun on “bright” and “half the day.” Keywords: dog, dogs, canine, love, loyal, loyalty, friendship, companionship, bark, barking, soul, soulful, sweet, bossy, angel, angels, heaven, Rainbow Bridge
0
Dec 12, 2024
Dec 12, 2024 at 3:20 AM UTC
michael-r-burch
Dog Daze
These are poems about dogs and doggerel about dogs... Dog Daze by Michael R. Burch Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler; he really is one of the best. Sometimes in bed he snuggles my head, though mostly he plops on my chest. I think Oz was made to love from the first ray of light to the dark, but his great love for me is exceeded (oh gee!) by his Truly Great Passion: to Bark. Epitaph for a Lambkin by Michael R. Burch for Melody, the prettiest, sweetest and fluffiest dog ever Now that Melody has been laid to rest Angels will know what it means to be blessed. Amen This Dog by Rabindranath Tagore loose translation/interpretation/moderniz     ation by Michael R. Burch Each morning this dog, who has become quite attached to me, sits silently at my feet until, gently caressing his head, I acknowledge his company. This simple recognition gives my companion such joy he shudders with sheer delight. Among all languageless creatures he alone has seen through man entire— has seen beyond what is good or bad in him to such a depth he can lay down his life for the sake of love alone. Now it is he who shows me the way through this unfathomable world throbbing with life. When I see his deep devotion, his offer of his whole being, I fail to comprehend... How, through sheer instinct, has he discovered whatever it is that he knows? With his anxious piteous looks he cannot communicate his understanding and yet somehow has succeeded in conveying to me out of the entire creation the true loveworthiness of man. My Dog Died by Pablo Neruda loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My dog died; so I buried him in the backyard garden next to some rusted machine. One day I'll rejoin him, over there, but for now he's gone with his shaggy mane, his crude manners and his cold, clammy nose, while I, the atheist who never believed in any heaven for human beings, now believe in a paradise I'm unfit to enter. Yes, I somehow now believe in a heavenly kennel where my dog awaits my arrival wagging his tail in furious friendship! But I'll not indulge in sadness here: why bewail a companion who was never servile? His friendship was more like that of a porcupine preserving its prickly autonomy. His was the friendship of a distant star with no more intimacy than true friendship called for and no false demonstrations: he never clambered over me coating my clothes with mange; he never assaulted my knee like dogs obsessed with *** But he used to gaze up at me, giving me the attention my ego demanded, while helping this vainglorious man understand my concerns were none of his. Aye, and with those bright eyes so much purer than mine, he'd gaze up at me contentedly; it was a look he reserved for me alone all his entire sweet, gentle life, always merely there, never troubling me, never demanding anything. Aye, and often I envied his energetic tail as we strode the shores of Isla Negra together, in winter weather, wild birds swarming skyward as my golden-maned friend leapt about, supercharged by the sea's electric surges, sniffing away wildly, his tail held ***** his face suffused with the salt spray. Joy! Joy! Joy! As only dogs experience joy in the shameless exuberance of their guiltless spirits. Thus there are no sad good-byes for my dog who died; we never once lied to each other. He died, he's gone, I buried him; that's all there is to it. Bed Head, or, the Ballad of Beth and her Fur Babies by Michael R. Burch When Beth and her babies prepare for “good night” sweet rituals of kisses and cuddles commence. First Wickett, the eldest, whose mane has grown light with the wisdom of age and advanced senescence is tucked in, “just right.” Then Mary, the mother, is smothered with kisses in a way that befits such an angelic missus. Then Melody, lambkin, and sweet, soulful Oz and cute, clever Xander all clap their clipped paws and follow sweet Beth to their high nightly roost where they’ll sleep on her head (or, perhaps, her caboose). Excoriation of a Treat Slave by Michael R. Burch I am his Highness’s dog at Kew. Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you? —Alexander Pope We practice our fierce Yapping, for when the treat slaves come they’ll grant Us our desire. (They really are that dumb!) They’ll never catch Us napping — our Ears pricked, keen and sharp. When they step into Our parlor, We’ll leap awake, and Bark. But one is rather doltish; he doesn’t understand the meaning of Our savage, imperial, wild Command. The others are quite docile and bow to Us on cue. We think the dull one wrote a poem about some Dog from Kew who never grasped Our secret, whose mind stayed think, and dark. It’s a question of obedience conveyed by a Lordly Bark. But as for playing fetch, well, that’s another matter. We think the dullard’s also as mad as any hatter and doesn’t grasp his duty to fling Us slobbery ***** which We’d return to him, mincingly, here in Our royal halls. Wickett by Michael R. Burch Wickett, sweet Ewok, Wickett, old Soul, Wicket, brave Warrior, though no longer whole . . . You gave us your All. You gave us your Best. You taught us to Love, like all of the Blessed Angels and Saints of good human stock. You barked the Great Bark. You walked the True Walk. Now Wickett, dear Child and incorrigible Duffer, we commend you to God that you no longer suffer. May you dash through the Stars like the Wickett of old and never feel hunger and never know cold and be reunited with all our Good Tribe — with Harmony and Paw-Paw and Mary beside. Go now with our Love as the great Choir sings that Wickett, our Wickett, has at last earned his Wings! The Resting Place by Michael R. Burch for Harmony Sleep, then, child; you were dearly loved. Sleep, and remember her well-loved face, strong arms that would lift you, soft hands that would move with love’s infinite grace, such tender caresses! ... When autumn came early, you could not stay. Now, wherever you wander, the wildflowers bloom and love is eternal. Her heart’s great room is your resting place. ... Await by the door her remembered step, her arms’ warm embraces, that gathered you in. Sleep, child, and remember. Love need not regret its moment of weakness, for that is its strength, And when you awaken, she will be there, smiling, at the Rainbow Bridge. Oz is the Boss! by Michael R. Burch Oz is the boss! Because? Because... Because of the wonderful things he does! He barks like a tyrant for treats and a hydrant; his voice far more regal than mere greyhound or beagle; his serfs must obey him or his yipping will slay them! Oz is the boss! Because? Because... Because of the wonderful things he does! Xander the Joyous by Michael R. Burch Xander the Joyous came here to prove: Love can be playful! Love can have moves! Now Xander the Joyous bounds around heaven, waiting for his mommies, one of the SEVEN ― the Seven Great Saints of the Great Canine Race who evangelize Love throughout all Time and Space. Amen Mary, Mary by Michael R. Burch Mary, Mary, sweet yet contrary, how do your puppies grow? With sugar and spice and everything nice, and Mama Beth loving them so! Lady’s Favor: Ye Noble Ballade of Sir Dog and the Butterfly by Michael R. Burch Sir was such a gallant man! When he saw his Lady cry and beg him to send her a Butterfly, what else could he do, but comply? From heaven, he found a Monarch regal and able to defy north winds and a chilly sky; now Sir has his wings and can fly! When our gallant little dog Sir was unable to live any longer, my wife Beth asked him send her a sign, in the form of a butterfly, that Sir and her mother were reunited and together in heaven. It was cold weather, in the thirties. We rarely see Monarch butterflies in our area, even in the warmer months. But after Sir had been put to sleep, to spare him any further suffering, Beth found a Monarch butterfly in our back yard. It appeared to be lifeless, but she brought it inside, breathed on it, and it returned to life. The Monarch lived with us for another five days, with Beth feeding it fruit juice and Gatorade on a Scrubbie that it could crawl over like a flower. Beth is convinced that Sir sent her the message she had requested. Solo’s Watch by Michael R. Burch Solo was a stray who found a safe place to stay with a warm and loving band, safe at last from whatever cruel hand made him flinch in his dreams. Now he wanders the clear-running streams that converge at the Rainbow’s End and the Bridge where kind Angels attend to all souls who are ready to ascend. And always he looks for those who hugged him and held him close, who kissed him and called him dear and gave him a home free of fear, to welcome them to his home, here. Buffy by Michael R. Burch Buffy is fluffy but never stuffy. Though she runs forever, she never gets huffy. The perfect puppy. Prince Kiwi the Great by Michael R. Burch Kiwi’s a pee-wee but incredibly bright: he sleeps half the day, pretending it’s night! Prince Kiwi commands us with his regal air: “Come, humans, and serve me, or I’ll yank your hair!” Kiwi cries “Kree! Kree!” when he wants to be fed ... suns, preens, flutters, showers, then it’s off to bed. Kiwi’s a pee-wee but incredibly bright: he sleeps half the day, pretending it’s night! Kiwi is our family’s green-cheeked parakeet. Parakeets need to sleep around 12 hours per day, hence the pun on “bright” and “half the day.” Keywords: dog, dogs, canine, love, loyal, loyalty, friendship, companionship, bark, barking, soul, soulful, sweet, bossy, angel, angels, heaven, Rainbow Bridge
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314
Dog Daze by Michael R. Burch Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler; he really is one of the best. Sometimes in bed he snuggles my head, though mostly he plops on my chest. I think Oz was made to love from the first ray of light to the dark, but his great love for me is exceeded (oh gee!) by his Truly Great Passion: to Bark. Keywords/Tags: dog, soul, soulful, snuggle, snuggles, love, bark, barks, barking, passion
0
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 6:21 AM UTC
michael-r-burch
Dog Daze
Dog Daze by Michael R. Burch Sweet Oz is a soulful snuggler; he really is one of the best. Sometimes in bed he snuggles my head, though mostly he plops on my chest. I think Oz was made to love from the first ray of light to the dark, but his great love for me is exceeded (oh gee!) by his Truly Great Passion: to Bark. Keywords/Tags: dog, soul, soulful, snuggle, snuggles, love, bark, barks, barking, passion
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13
Thoughts of you strike at all hours Matching memories to mixed emotions Handsome haunting face appears Persistent flames burn me with devotion Inspired inside by inviting eyes Powerful enough to lock in a gaze Makes me want to hide within your aura In a place far from here, get lost in a gaze Been living a fairytale Loving through day, all through the night Evident by how we remove each others clothes Want you to be the only one who gets to hold me tight If you are wrapped up next to me in sheets I look forward to each play-filled day I can honestly say I am happy with life If it lasts only a short while that's still okay Time spent with your hands on my hips Worth any amount of pain to come Feelings you rile  within my heart I will treasure no matter the outcome I will never forget how your hot breath felt Tickling my pale exposed neck Each murmur captured in my brain Stored in an internal tape deck Precious moments run around my head Lips throbbing to touch once more I will love you until the day I take my last breath Til the second my still cold body hits the floor
0
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
AmandaKayBurke
For Tay
Thoughts of you strike at all hours Matching memories to mixed emotions Handsome haunting face appears Persistent flames burn me with devotion Inspired inside by inviting eyes Powerful enough to lock in a gaze Makes me want to hide within your aura In a place far from here, get lost in a gaze Been living a fairytale Loving through day, all through the night Evident by how we remove each others clothes Want you to be the only one who gets to hold me tight If you are wrapped up next to me in sheets I look forward to each play-filled day I can honestly say I am happy with life If it lasts only a short while that's still okay Time spent with your hands on my hips Worth any amount of pain to come Feelings you rile  within my heart I will treasure no matter the outcome I will never forget how your hot breath felt Tickling my pale exposed neck Each murmur captured in my brain Stored in an internal tape deck Precious moments run around my head Lips throbbing to touch once more I will love you until the day I take my last breath Til the second my still cold body hits the floor
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28
I place my head on your chest Let the rise and fall lul me to sleep Feel your warm breath Send shivers down my neck Our legs intertwined Your hand lost in my hair I listen to the music Of your heartbeat My dreams come To whisk me away But I know I’m safe Snuggled in your arms
0
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
She_Writes
Snuggles
I place my head on your chest Let the rise and fall lul me to sleep Feel your warm breath Send shivers down my neck Our legs intertwined Your hand lost in my hair I listen to the music Of your heartbeat My dreams come To whisk me away But I know I’m safe Snuggled in your arms
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12
*Electric Dreams Of My Radioactive Ex, Bio-Digital Jazz Tap Dancing Us Into *** Lucid Infatuations Infused In Whiskey, Cupid Fairytales Conceiving Frisky, A Perpetual Beauty Smoldered In Ecstatic Bliss, Sublime Sins Between Her Rosy Lips With Velvet Kiss, Romantic Burns Galvanized In Her ****** Desires, Seductive Stardust Enchanting My Feisty Fires, Encoded Serenity In Her Decoded Virginity, Recoding Obscenities Of Her Fragrant Sexuality, Hazel Echoes Raining Intimate Bouquets, Rekindling, Her Drug That Fondles In Her Moaning Glaze, Enraptured Catalysts Animating In Her Cuddles, Euphoric Elations Climaxing Into Her Satin Snuggles. - 02:17AM -*
0
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
m-harris
Bio-Digital Jazz
*Electric Dreams Of My Radioactive Ex, Bio-Digital Jazz Tap Dancing Us Into *** Lucid Infatuations Infused In Whiskey, Cupid Fairytales Conceiving Frisky, A Perpetual Beauty Smoldered In Ecstatic Bliss, Sublime Sins Between Her Rosy Lips With Velvet Kiss, Romantic Burns Galvanized In Her ****** Desires, Seductive Stardust Enchanting My Feisty Fires, Encoded Serenity In Her Decoded Virginity, Recoding Obscenities Of Her Fragrant Sexuality, Hazel Echoes Raining Intimate Bouquets, Rekindling, Her Drug That Fondles In Her Moaning Glaze, Enraptured Catalysts Animating In Her Cuddles, Euphoric Elations Climaxing Into Her Satin Snuggles. - 02:17AM -*
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15
My heart is so warm right now like a toasty marshmallow all brown and melty slumping to one side. Part of me wants more like a piercing light saber my desire increases tenfold three red shafts throbbing extremely hard and ready to go when my nostrils take in your sweet scent. It's nice like honey baked bread fresh from the oven or soft like green litchen moss with warmth radiating while watching Star Wars: The Force Awakens (again) while cuddling you letting your body heat fold over me so neat like someone cranked open a portable blow torch and started blowing my frozen heart wide open with orange flames thawing it to room temperature. Now a tiny piece of pink remains peeking shyly at you in the dark precariously dangling its delicate frailty like soft woven spider lace.
0
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
sienna-luna
Finn and Rey's Guide to a Thawing Heart/A Galaxy Romance
My heart is so warm right now like a toasty marshmallow all brown and melty slumping to one side. Part of me wants more like a piercing light saber my desire increases tenfold three red shafts throbbing extremely hard and ready to go when my nostrils take in your sweet scent. It's nice like honey baked bread fresh from the oven or soft like green litchen moss with warmth radiating while watching Star Wars: The Force Awakens (again) while cuddling you letting your body heat fold over me so neat like someone cranked open a portable blow torch and started blowing my frozen heart wide open with orange flames thawing it to room temperature. Now a tiny piece of pink remains peeking shyly at you in the dark precariously dangling its delicate frailty like soft woven spider lace.
Continue reading...
22