I am a tough woman , with an open mind, I like to explore and find pleasure in the least common. If you are willing to explore and know limits with me, you are welcome.
Hello, I'm Lyly, I'm Colombian and I'm 22 years old, I have great aspirations on a personal and professional level, this is one of my biggest challenges, my job, since I ventured into this world my life has changed drastically, that's why I love it and every day I am willing to enjoy it and experience many things New in with the help of you, mu. 😚
In my life I have hobbies that make me an unusual woman, I am passionate about Gothic literature, philosophical novels are my passion, if you are a person who likes to scrutinize in the world of mysticism and alchemy you can combine very well with me, my favorite authors, Franz Kafka, Edgar Allan Poe, and HP.. Lovercraft are at the top of my tethering taste, on the other hand I am passionate about music, I play instruments like guitar, in cinema I love cult films, psychedelic horror, possibly we have many films that we want to share….. 📚⏱📚
On the other hand, I have a very indigenous palate, I love the food of my country Colombia, its cuisine has a variety of unique flavors, from sweet combinations to salads, I love its variety of fruits and vegetables, my favorite food will undoubtedly be the typical dishes of my region!!!🥧🍌🥦
fetish woman.
I've always had an unusual taste, leather and latex, they make my eyes find a visual orgasm. The satisfaction it produces by rubbing my skin, its glow causes excitement in me..
😈😈
On a sexual level I like to be as dominant as submissive, that will depend on the sexual energy you produce in me, in any role we can reach our highest point of pleasure. 💦 As much as I'm your dominatrix or your slave, I want to practice my BDMS fantasies, recharge your darkest, most lustful desires and take them to the extreme with me.😈
😈 You are welcome..😈
Bonjour, I'm Lyly, I'm Colombian and I'm 22 years old, I have great aspirations on the personal and professional level, it's one of my great challenges, mon travail, since I entered dans ce monde my life has radically changed, ça c'est pourquoi je l'aime et chaque jour, je suis prêt to enjoy and to experience many new things with your help,. 😚
A little more of me.😎😛
Dans ma vie j'ai des passe-temps qui font de moi une femme hors du commun, I am passionate about Gothic literature, philosophical novels are my passion, if you are a person who likes to plunge into the world of mysticism and alchemy, you can combine very well with me, mes The author of the book, Franz Kafka, Edgar Allan Poe and HP. Lovercraft mène mon goût sombre, par contre je suis passionné de musique, je joue d'instruments comme la guitare, au cinéma I'adore the cult films, l'horreur psychédélique, peut-être, we have many films that we wish to share.. 📚⏱📚
D'un autre côté, j'ai un palais très autochtone, j'aime la cuisine de mon pays la Colombie, its gastronomy a une variété de saveurs uniques, du sucré au salé, j'aime sa variété de fruits et légumes, mon plat préféré sans doute seront les plats typiques de ma région. I'm also very pleased with the way the food is prepared.! !!🥧🍌🥦
You are a femme fétichiste..
. I always had an unusual taste, leather and latex make my eyes find a visual orgasm. The satisfaction that he produces at the touch of my skin, they are éclat cause me an excitement. 😈😈
I am a woman who loves to show her femininity and sensuality, dans tous les aspects de ma vie, that's why I like to play with my way of dressing, très sensuelle et dominante à la fois, mélangeant les tons noirs et rouges, I adore eux, ils font vous ressortir. The colour of my hair and eyes is clear brown.👀👅🥰
😈 Welcome to the party..😈
Hello, I am Lyly, I am Colombian and I am 22 years old, I have great aspirations on a personal and professional level, this is one of my great challenges, my job, since I entered this world my life has changed drastically, that's why I love it and every day I am willing to enjoy it and experience many new things in it with the help of you, mua. 😚
a little more of me. 😎😛 I
n my life I have hobbies that make me an unusual woman, I am passionate about Gothic literature, philosophical novels are my passion, if you are a person who likes to delve into the world of mysticism and alchemy, you will be able to combine very well with me, my authors. I'm not going to be able to do this.. Lovercraft leads my dark taste, on the other hand I am passionate about music, I play instruments like the guitar, in cinema I love cult films, psychedelic horror, possibly, we have many films that we want to share.. 📚⏱📚
On the other hand, I have a very native palate, I love the food of my country Colombia, its gastronomy has a variety of unique flavors, from sweet to savory combinations, I love its variety of fruits and vegetables, my favorite food without a doubt will be the typical dishes of my region! I'm not! 🥧🍌🥦 On the other hand, I have a very native palate, I love the food of my country Colombia, its gastronomy has a variety of unique flavors, from sweet to savory combinations, I love its variety of fruits and vegetables, my favorite food without a doubt will be the typical dishes of my region!!!🥧🍌🥦
Fetish woman.. I have always had unusual taste, leather and latex make my eyes find a visual orgasm.. the satisfaction it produces with the touch of my skin, its shine causes excitement in me.. 😈😈 On a sexual level I like to be as dominant as I am submissive, that will depend on the sexual energy that you produce in me, in any role we can reach our highest point of pleasure. 💦 As much as your dominatrix or as your slave I want to practice my BDMS fantasies, recharge your darkest and most lustful desires and take them to the extreme with me.😈
My favorite poem
Woman's body, white hills, white thighs, you look like the world in your surrender attitude. My wild peasant body undermines you and makes the son jump from the bottom of the earth. I was alone like a tunnel. From me the birds fled and into me the night entered its powerful invasion. To survive I forged you like a weapon, like an arrow in my bow, like a stone in my sling. But the time for revenge has come, and I love you. Of a fat content, by weight, exceeding 13%. Oh, the breast glasses! Ah the eyes of absence! Oh, the pubes! Ah, your slow, sad voice! Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace. My thirst, my boundless yearning, my indecisive path! Dark channels where eternal thirst follows, and fatigue follows, and infinite pain.🌹
Woman's body, white hills, white thighs, you look like the world in your attitude of dedication. My body of a wild farmer undermines you and makes the son jump from the depths of the earth. I went alone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me and the night entered into me his powerful invasion. To survive me I forged you like a weapon, like an arrow in my bow, like a stone in my sling. But the hour of revenge falls, and I love you. Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk. Ah the chest glasses! Ah the eyes of absence! Ah, the pubic roses! Ah your slow and sad voice! Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace. My thirst, my unlimited desire, my indecisive path! Dark channels where eternal thirst continues, and the fatigue continues, and the pain infinite..🌹
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs, you resemble the world in your attitude of devotion.. Mon corps de fermier sauvage mine you and makes you jump the sons of the earth's depths. I'm alone in the tunnel. The birds have left me and the night comes in with its powerful invasion.. To survive, I forged you like a weapon, like an arrow in my bow, like a stone in my fronde.. But the hour of vengeance is coming and I love you. Other, of a fat content, by weight, exceeding 13%. Oh, the breast glasses! Ah, the eyes of absence! Ah, the pubic roses! Ah, your voice is slow and sad! Corps de ma femme, I will persist in your grace. Ma, my thirst is unlimited, my path is unknown! Dark canals where the eternal thirst continues, and the fatigue continues, and the pain is endless.🌹🥵
You are, you areThe portion of you in me, in the hole that our bodies can't cover, if entangled they cohabit in a jumble of embraces The infinite wrinkle formed in the sheet of our skin, the scattered curtain that floats wandering between the moans of a wounded animal The light of the alarm clock that flickers winking at the loving death, a drop of barefoot sweat that stamps on the floor, it settles on my feet and evaporates The same wood forged in alabaster candied with the smell of cinnamon and mint, the rusty latch of old tricks, the speck of dust that frays into thousands of floating lights, motionless in the gravity of a faint reflection The picture that hangs at the headboard; Sinuous and reptilian hanging from hugging tulips The corner of the stained-glass window crack that lets out fluctuating swings of light: white opals that crash against the wall The narrow mattress that screams its unstable existence, the electric lamp that casts Chinese shadows and esparto grass You are the very room where, devoid of your particles, the alchemy of our bodies takes place 💋💖☯
Are you the portion of you in me, in the gap that are not enough to cover our bodies, If entangled they cohabit in a mass of hugs The infinite wrinkle formed in the sheet of our skin, the scattered curtain that floats rambling between moans of a wounded animal The alarm clock light that flickers winking at the enamoring death, a barefoot drop of sweat that hits the ground, it lands on my feet and evaporates. The same wood forged in candied alabasters with the smell of cinnamon and mint, the rusty latch of old tricks, the speck of dust that frays into thousands of little lights floating, motionless in the gravity of a faint reflection The painting that hangs at the headboard; sinuous and reptile hanging embraced tulips The corner in the crack of the stained glass that lets escape fluctuating swings of light: white opals crashing against the wall The narrow mattress that screams its unstable existence, the electric lamp that projects Chinese and Spartacus shadows You are the very chamber where, condensed with your particles, the alchemy of our bodies takes place.💙💚💤💦
Sont Tu es la part de toi en moi, dans l'écart qui ne suffisent pas à couvrir nos corps, S'ils sont empêtrés, ils cohabitent dans une masse de câlins La ride infinie formée dans la nappe de notre peau, le rideau épars qui flotte en divaguant entre les gémissements d'un animal blessé La lumière du réveil qui vacille faisant un clin d'œil à la mort amoureuse, une goutte de sueur pieds nus qui touche le sol, il atterrit sur mes pieds et s'évapore Le même bois forgé dans les albâtres confits avec l'odeur de cannelle et de menthe, le loquet rouillé des vieux trucs, le grain de poussière qui s'effiloche en milliers de petites lumières flottant, immobile dans la gravité d'un faible reflet Le tableau accroché à la tête de lit; sinueux et reptile suspendu tulipes embrassées Le coin dans la fissure du vitrail qui laisse échapper des oscillations de lumière fluctuantes: opales blanches s'écrasant contre le mur Le matelas étroit qui crie son existence instable, la lampe électrique qui projette des ombres chinoises et spartes Vous êtes la chambre même où, condensée avec vos particules, l'alchimie de notre corps a lieu💥
The unbearable lightness of being. I love this play! I'm not! I'm going to go!
He took in the mild smell of fever and sucked it in as if he wanted to fill himself with the intimacies of his body.. And at that moment he imagined that he had been in his house for many years and that he was dying.. Suddenly he had a clear feeling that he could not survive her death.. I'd lie next to her and want to die with her.. Moved by that image he sank his face into the pillow next to her head and remained like that for a long time. And it hurt him that in a situation like that, where a real man would be able to make a decision immediately, he hesitated, thus depriving of meaning the most beautiful moment he had ever lived (he was kneeling by his bed and thought he could not survive his death). He was angry with himself, but then it occurred to him that it was actually quite natural that he didn't know what he wanted: man can never know what he should want, because he lives only one life and has no way of comparing it to his previous lives or of correcting it in his later lives. There is no way to check which of the two decisions is the best, because there is no comparison. Man lives everything at first and without preparation. Like an actor performing his play without any rehearsal.. But what value can life have if the first rehearsal to live is already life itself? That's why life seems like a sketch. But neither a sketch is the precise word, because a sketch is always a sketch of something, preparation for a painting, while the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, a sketch without a picture.🎨
He felt the soft smell of fever in his mouth and inhaled it as if he wanted to fill himself with the intimacies of her body.. And at that moment she imagined that she had already been in her house for many years and that she was dying. Suddenly he had the clear feeling that he couldn't survive her death.. He would lie next to her and want to die with her.. Moved by that image, he buried his face in the pillow next to her head and remained like that for a long time... And he felt sorry that in a situation like that, in which a real man would be able to immediately make a decision, he hesitated, thus depriving of its meaning to the most beautiful moment he had ever experienced (he was kneeling next to his bed and thought he could not survive his death). He was angry with himself, but then it occurred to him that it was actually quite natural that he didn't know what he wanted: Man can never know what he should want, because he lives only one life and has no way of comparing it with his previous lives or of making amends for it. their later lives. There is no possibility of checking which of the decisions is the best, because there is no comparison. One experiences everything the first time and without preparation. As if an actor represented his work without any type of rehearsal. But what value can life have if the first test for living is already life itself? That's why life seems like a sketch. But a sketch is not the right word, because a sketch is always a draft of something, the preparation for a painting, while the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, a draft without a painting..📽📽
He felt the sweet smell of fever in his mouth and inhaled it as if he wanted to soak up the intimacy of his body.. And at that moment, he imagined that he had been with him for many years and that he was dying.. Suddenly, he had the obvious feeling that he couldn't survive his death.. He'd lie beside her and want to die with her.. Emotionally, I'm touched by this image. I'm touched by his face in the pillow beside his head... And he regretted that in a situation like that, in which a true man would be able to make a decision immediately, he hesitated, depriving himself of his senses the most beautiful moment he had ever lived.). He was angry with himself, but then he came to the mind that he was in fact all-to-natural that he did not know what he wanted: l'homme ne peut jamais savoir ce qu'il devrait vouloir, for he lived only one life and has no way of comparing it with his previous lives or of Amende honorable pour faire ses vies ultérieures is hereby ordered to pay the costs of the proceedings.. There is no way to verify which of the decisions is the best, because there is no comparison.. L'homme vit tout du premier coup et sans préparation The man who saw the first coup and without preparation. Like an actor playing his labour without any repetition.. But what value can life have if the first test to live is already life itself? That's why life resembles a sketch. But sketches are not the right word, because a sketch is always a sketch of something, the preparation of a tableau, while a sketch is our life..
If each of the moments of our lives is going to repeat itself endlessly, we are nailed to eternity like Jesus Christ on the cross.. The picture is terrible.. In the world of eternal return, the weight of an unbearable responsibility rests on every gesture.. That's why Nietzsche called the idea of eternal return the heaviest burden.. But if eternal return is the heaviest burden, then our lives can appear, against that backdrop, in all their wonderful lightness.. (.) The heaviest burden tears us apart, we are knocked down by it, crushed against the ground. But in the amateur poetry of all times the woman wishes to carry the weight of the man's body. The heavier load is therefore at the same time the image of the more intense fullness of life. The heavier the burden, the more grounded our life will be, the more real and true it will be. On the contrary, the absolute absence of charge makes man lighter than air, he flies high, he distances himself from the earth, from his earthly being, he is only half real and his movements are as free as insignificant."
If each of the moments of our life is going to be repeated infinite times, we are nailed to eternity like Jesus Christ to the cross.. The image is terrible.. In the world of eternal return, the weight of an unbearable responsibility rests on every gesture.. That is why Nietzsche called the idea of eternal recurrence the heaviest burden.. But if the eternal return is the heaviest burden, then our lives can appear, against that backdrop, in all their wonderful lightness.. (.) The heaviest load destroys us, we are knocked down by it, it crushes us to the earth.. But in the love poetry of all times the woman wants to carry the weight of the man's body. The heaviest burden is therefore, at the same time, the image of the most intense fullness of life.. The heavier the burden, the more grounded our life will be, the more real and true it will be.. On the contrary, the absolute absence of burden makes man become lighter than air, fly upwards, distance himself from the earth, from his earthly being, which is only half real and his movements are as free as insignificant.."
If each of the moments of our life must be repeated at infinity, we are clutched for eternity like Jesus Christ on the cross.. The picture is terrible.. In the world of eternal return, the weight of an unbearable responsibility rests on every gesture.. That is why Nietzsche qualified the idea of eternal recurrence as a "fardeau le plus lourd".. But if the eternal return is the heaviest burden, then our lives can appear, on this canvas of background, in all their marvellous lightness.. (.) The heaviest burden destroys us, it knocks us down, it crushes us to the ground.. But in the poetry of love of all times, the woman wants to carry the body of the man.. The burden is the heaviest, so the image of the fullness of life is the most intense.. The more the burden is heavy, the more our life will be anchored, the more it will be real and true.. On the contrary, the absolute absence of burden makes man lighter than air, he flies upwards, he moves away from the earth, from being earthly, he is only half real and his movements are as free as they are insignificant..
A passage from my favorite poem.
I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not! I'm not!
Berenice and I were cousins, and we both grew up in my father's house. But we grew up differently: I, weak in health and immersed in my sadness, she, agile, graceful, full of energy; for her, the walks in the colony; for me, the studies in the cloister; she lived in my own heart, and devoted body and soul to the most painful meditation; she, wandering carelessly through life, without thinking of the shadows in its path or the silent flight of the winged crow of the hours. ¡Berenice! I call on his name! Berenice! and among the ruins of my memory stir to that so-called thousand tumultuous memories! Ah! His image is now before me, as in the early days of His sincere joy! O splendid, yet fantastic balleza! O sylph of the forests of Arnheim! O naiad of its fountains! And then, after that, it's all mystery and terror; A story that wasn't meant to be told. A disease, a fatal disease, like the cayamon on her body; and even as I looked at her, the spirit of change crept in, seizing her spirits, her clothes and her character, and in the most subtle and terrible way, disturbing even her personal identity.. ¡Oh, my God! The destroyer came and went; and the victim, where is he? I don't know her, or I don't know her as Berenice!
a fragment of my favorite poem Berenice! I'm not! Berenice and I were cousins, and we both grew up in my paternal house.. However, we grew up differently: I, weak in health and immersed in my sadness, she, agile, graceful, full of energy; for her, walks in the neighborhood; for me, the cloister studies; She lived in my own heart, and devoted body and soul to the most painful meditation; she, wandering carelessly through life, without thinking of the shadows of her path or the silent flight of the winged raven of the hours. Berenice, what's going on? I invoke her name! Berenice, what's going on? and among the ruins of my memory a thousand tumultuous memories stir to that call! Oh, my God! His image of her is now before me, as in the first days of sincere joy of her! Oh splendid, yet fantastic beauty! O sylph of the Arnheim forests! Oh naiad of her fountains! And then, after, everything is mystery and terror; a story that shouldn't be told.. A disease, a fatal disease fell like the simoun on her body; and even as I looked at her, the spirit of change was creeping into her, taking over her spirit, her clothes, and her character, and in the most subtle and terrible way, disturbing even the personal identity of her. She. Oh, my God! The destroyer came and went; and the victim, where is she? I don't know her, or I don't know her anymore like Berenice!
A fragment from my favorite poem, Bérénice! I'm not! Bérénice and I were cousins and we both grew up in my father's house.. Cependant, nous avons grandi différemment: moi, faible de santé et plongée dans ma tristesse, elle, agile, gracieuse, d'énergie dasbordanuo; pour elle, promenades dans le quartier; Pour moi, le cloître étudie; Je vivais dans mon propre cœur et je me consacrais corps et âme à la méditation la plus douloureuse; Elle, errant négligemment dans la vie, sans penser aux ombres de son chemin ni au vol silencieux du corbeau ailé des heures. Bérénice! I'm calling your name! Bérénice! And among the ruins of my memory, a thousand tumultuous souvenirs stirring at this appeal! Oh, my God! His image is now before me, as in the first days of his sincere joy! Oh, beauty splendid but fantastic! O sylphe of the forests of Arnheim! O naïade of your sources! And then, après, everything is mystery and terror; a story that should not be told.. Une maladie, une maladie mortelle tomba comme le simoun sur son corps; et alors même que je la regardais, l'esprit de changement s'est glissé en elle, s'emparant de son esprit, de ses vêtements et de son caractère, et de la manière la plus subtile et la plus terrible, perturbant même son identité personnelle. A disease, a mortal disease, was found in her body, and even as I looked at her, the spirit of change slipped into her, seizing her spirit, her clothes and her character, and in the most subtle and terrible manner, disturbing even her personal identity.. Oh, my God! The destroyer was coming and the victim, where is she? I don't know her, or then I don't know her anymore like Bérénice.! +
Deep down, a burning fire is awakening. My verses, like flames that burn, awaken passion in oblivion. In the distance, I imagine you, my muse, my source of inspiration. With every word, I caress you, awakening desire and emotion.
Your curves are poetic lines, which I trace with fiery ink. My fingers, like erotic feathers, run over your sweet, warm skin. In every verse, I whisper in my ear, sweet promises of pleasure and lust. I link our souls in a groan, weaving our bodies together in euphoria. I am the poet of your hidden desires, the lover who awakens your sighs. My words, like caresses, grown-ups, take you into a world full of sighs.
In the context of erotic poetry, my verse knows no boundaries. I strip my soul in every verse, and I give myself to you, without reserve. So, in the ecstasy of writing, I invite you to enjoy my pen. Through these candle poems, I make you feel loved and foamed. Burning verses that ignite passion, and turn desire into poetry. You are my inspiration, my worship, my muse in this fantasy world..
La pasión desbordante and la sensualidad are essential elements in erotic poems, as they seek to express in an intense way the pleasure and the intimacy in all its dimensions.. Through these compositions, a true window is created into the intimate and carnal world, where desires are explored and the deepest sensations are transmitted.. In erotic poems, words become tools to awaken the senses and stimulate the imagination.. Each verse is loaded with seductive images and suggestive metaphors, which aim to transport the reader to a space of intimacy and delight.. La elección cuidadosa de cada palabra seeks to recreate the physical and emotional sensations involved in the encounters of love, as well as transmit the connection and complicity between the lovers.
Overflowing passion and sensuality are essential elements in erotic poems, since they seek to intensely express pleasure and intimacy in all their dimensions.. Through these compositions, a true window is created into the intimate and carnal world, where desires are explored and the deepest sensations are transmitted.. In erotic poems, words become tools to awaken the senses and stimulate the imagination.. Each verse is loaded with seductive images and suggestive metaphors, which aim to transport the reader to a space of intimacy and delight.. The careful choice of each word seeks to recreate the physical and emotional sensations involved in loving encounters, as well as convey the connection and complicity between lovers..
La passion débordante et la sensualité are essential elements of the poems erotiques, since they seek to express intensely pleasure and intimacy in all their dimensions.. Through these compositions, a veritable window is created on the intimate and charnel world, where desires are explored and the deepest sensations are transmitted.. In erotic poems, words become tools to awaken the senses and stimulate the imagination.. Each verse is charged with seductive images and suggestive metaphors, which aim to transport the reader into a space of intimacy and pleasure.. Le choix minutieux de chaque mot seeks to recreate the physical and emotional sensations involved in the encounters of love, as well as to convey the connection and complicity between the lovers..
Erotic poems can also be considered as a way to break taboos and explore the limits of human sexuality.. Through the word poetics, the poet can speak without inhibitions of intimate and personal themes, opening a space of freedom and expression. The erotic poems invite us to reflect on our own sexuality and to question established norms, inviting us to live our sexuality in a more authentic and full way. In conclusion, erotic poems are a powerful artistic manifestation that invites us to explore sensuality and desire from a poetic perspective.. Through sensuality, the duality between love and desire, the use of metaphor and the openness to the exploration of boundaries, these poems invite us to immerse ourselves in an intimate and emotionally intense universe.. Without a doubt, eroticism in poems is a fascinating subject that deserves to be explored and appreciated in all its fullness..
Erotic poems can also be considered a way to break taboos and explore the limits of human sexuality. Through the poetic word, the poet can speak without inhibitions about intimate and personal topics, opening a space of freedom and expression. Erotic poems invite us to reflect on our own sexuality and question established norms, inviting us to live our sexuality in a more authentic and full way. In conclusion, erotic poems are a powerful artistic manifestation that invites us to explore sensuality and desire from a poetic perspective.. Through sensuality, the duality between love and desire, the use of metaphor and the openness to the exploration of limits, these poems invite us to immerse ourselves in an intimate and emotionally intense universe. Without a doubt, eroticism in poems is a fascinating topic that deserves to be explored and appreciated in all its fullness..
Erotic poems can also be considered as a way of breaking taboos and exploring the limits of human sexuality.. A travers la parole poétique, le poète peut parler sans inhibitions de sujets intimes et personnels, opening as well an espace of freedom and of expression. Les poèmes érotiques nous invitent à réfléchir sur notre propre sexualité et à remettre en question les normes établies, nous invitant à vivre notre sexualité de manière plus authentique et plus complète. In conclusion, the poems are a powerful artistic manifestation that invites us to explore sensuality and desire in a poetic perspective.. À travers la sensualité, la dualité entre amour et désir, le recours à la métaphore et l'ouverture à l'exploration des limites, ces poèmes nous invitent à nous immerger dans un univers intime et émotionnellement intense. Without a doubt, the eroticism in poems is a fascinating subject which deserves to be explored and appreciated in all its fullness..
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