It is the Smith;
no, the Chetna
I am at the shore
the edge of things
the trees call my name
they whisper softly to me
rocking my cradle
the first notes of a parental voice
I ever heard sounded like
the hum of tree frogs
and I am at once sad, angry and
alone, again.
Kink is sacred, don't @ me.
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I am on my hands and knees on a dirty carpet in front of an open window,
and I am naked from the waist down. Who undresses in this order? I always
lose my ...
1 week ago
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