MiiaWills

MIIA WILLS

I have a great spontaneity and an overflowing charisma. I am a woman with a great taste for sport and health. For me, jogging is more of a therapy than an exercise or so-called cardio. It gives me peace and quiet to be able to go out and empty my head. my head for a while. Spend time admiring the city and its efforts, eating healthy is also on my list of favorites, strawberries are my favorite fruits in addition to natural juices, if we talk about alcohol, beer always goes well with a good michelada, I love it. chocolate, sometimes breaking the diet with a good chocolate is not a bad thing: P I like coloring, it's a fun plan or there's nothing more beautiful than a romantic movie, accompanied by good company, would you like to be that company?

I like to be nice and very flirtatious in my room, I like to provoke and excite you, I like that you see me and you start banging for me, I hope we will have a lot of fun together. I am happy to play with my big butts, move my big hips and touch my breasts. I have a cheerful, sensual and flirtatious character and sometimes dominant, depending on how you treat me. I will be an example of your behavior towards you. I can be cruel if you disrespect me. I love a man with good things. manners and education.

I am a very cheerful girl. I like to talk, I am always looking for something to say. One of my favorite things is getting to know people and cultures and I really enjoy listening to and seeing you while we have a long conversation. I always try to make sure we don't get bored.

The sun, asleep in the mist, moves away, and like a dead star my passion lies; The night reflects along the pier; My old heart is a king without reason. Each being of a wheel is the spinning axle, Falling, offering and affront, on the anvil of pain; Grey faces are a foam that pulls The tide of asphalt and colorless light. Where are we, love? Is it true that we are? The moon is hiding at our approach At the edge of the hollow metal roofs. And the white eye across the streets still yearns for the frozen glare of the dead star before the day rises.

Neither to shelter from the day under the tree of mist, Nor to bite the summer in the sleeping fruits, Nor to kiss on the slow lips of darkness The dead evaporated and vain to have been. Do not penetrate the center of the cold algebra, nor nail the infinite mask in the void. Do not sow oblivion in the glorious river, and do not pour nothingness into the blessed grave.. Do not touch, my love, your delivered mouth, Do not burn your desire without the expected flame, Do not drag the wound on your delivered body. Do not pray with hands folded in grief, but bring with you in the serene night the deep heart where life has bled.

The women of my country carry a yoke on their shoulders; Her heavy and slow heart swings between these two poles; At every step, two big buckets of milk crash against each other against her knees; The motherly soul of the cows, the foam of the chewed grass, Spruce up in gentle and nauseating waves. I am like the farm maid; Through pain, I advance with a firm step; The bucket on the left side is full of blood; You can drink and be satisfied from this powerful juice. The bucket on the right side is full of ice; you can lean over and look at your ragged face. So I go between my fate and my destiny, Between my hot and liquid blood and my clear dead love. And when I'm sure that neither the mirror nor the drink can distract or calm your wild heart, I won't break the resigned mirror, I won't spill the bucket where all my life has bled. I will carry my bucket of blood through the dark night, where the dead are, who will come to drink. I will go where the waves are with my bucket of ice; The brief moaning of the shore will be less sweet than my tears; A large pale face will appear on the dune And this mirror, which you no longer want, will reflect the calm face of the moon.

And when I'm sure that neither the mirror nor the drink can distract or calm your wild heart, I won't break the resigned mirror, I won't spill the bucket where all my life has bled. I will carry my bucket of blood through the dark night, where the dead are, who will come to drink. I will go where the waves are with my bucket of ice; The brief moaning of the shore will be less sweet than my tears; A large pale face will appear on the dune And this mirror, which you no longer want, will reflect the calm face of the moon.