MollyMarthins

💖In this space you can learn a little more about me, I hope you enjoy it my love 💖

I am a very happy and spontaneous girl, I love to have as much fun as possible with you, I love to experience new things and have fun in the process...

I like to interact with you and get to know you a little better, come here and tell me about yourself!

The erotic thought takes root in the unconscious and as on a canvas it captures in chiaroscuro the nudity of lovers who with lust... in intercourse are linked, the silence moans as the orgasm flows quickly, the souls caress each other and a seal seals the alliance.

In the vast universe of poetry, blue eyes awaken a kaleidoscope of emotions and metaphors. In this article, we will explore how these eyes, like celestial jewels, have inspired poets throughout history, revealing the mystery and depth hidden behind their brilliant color. Welcome to a poetic journey towards the seduction of blue eyes.

Lips, tongue, wanting to know them, I still have to bite them, entranced by those black eyes, which look at me with desire, while I blush. Mouth, neck, perfect breasts, exposed to the sun, without pretexts, squeeze the edges, with my long fingers, bring out the best chords. Navel, waist, perky hips, two impressive legs, which frame a bulging pelvis, which disturbs me even more, just like that.

When, after loving each other, you hold your messy hair, how beautiful your arms are! Like in an open book, the black letter emerges from your armpits, fine, sweet against the white. And in the violent gesture, your breasts open, and the nipples, caressed so many times, seem, from afar, darker, larger... the sex is hidden from you, smaller and softer... Oh, what a unfolding of things ! Then, the suit turns everything into the everyday landscape, like a burrow where snakes, breasts, thighs and arms would hide.

Entering you, head to head, hair to hair, mouth to mouth: the air you breathe - the fixity of memory -, I breathe and in the little light of the afternoon - a ray that does not cease between the burned bones - touches the edges of your body; light that captures the form. Already the zenith of her summons her to another void where her whiteness erases, a mark of sand, your figure. The day devouring sounds burns, from time to time, its thickness and dumps the texture of ash into the voracious night of the senses.

I dissolve in the magic, I turn in the middle of the pulpy fruit, I hear the soft noise of the burning ember, the moist language anchored in the mouth. A drum announces your pulse, your dark river. Closed my eyes I look at you I look at myself deep ash I am now.

With this single hand I tire myself loving you from afar. Lying under the old window, I wait for the sweat to go cold, I contemplate the labyrinth of my arms. I own a rectangle of sky that I will never reach. But we must be more objective, forget the worries, the deceptions, the useless desire for verses that testify to life. Celebrate the silence of a satisfied body, that godless height to which our mortal flesh reaches. Thus knowing the plenitude that some of us pursue: a man, under the sky, sees his hands.

Come, intact and flirtatious epiphany, comforting my love that today is ready to warm my desert bed, my bohemian bed that grows cold. Cover me in your body, my beloved. Wrap me in flattery, if I wake up in the morning to the uncertain glow, which surprises by veiling my agony. Impalement my lips with honey, smelling of myrtles and carnations, that enthusiasm drips into your mouth; and fusing sorrows and pains in a free conjunction of loves, let us enjoy the pleasure in the spasm.

When I lifted your red scented skirts, like a rose, your face was a laugh; Your black eyes were blacker and softer, the entire aroma of your body lit up. And above the madness of the summer moment your warm hair blinded your eyes. A pout of annoyance curled your lip and you showed your luminous Chinese teeth... The reproach was never lukewarm or bitter, you gave it all just because, because you wanted to, and the roses burned in your garden with the sun adorned your fatigue with a golden fragrance.

Although you anointed the threshold and salivated, it could not penetrate, licked and soft, or even penetrate such a vast ship, due to its volume and its ballast. My caution mocked and in contrast - liniments, modesty or care - with meager annals forgotten suddenly and without warning you entered. Never again will tolerance or welcome be found in me so inertly hidden that it invites antipodean pleasures and inverts itself in symmetrical rigors: death that is part of life. Life that is part of death.

Oh you, sweeter, more endless than sweetness, carnal in love among the shadows: from other days you emerge filling your cup with heavy pollen, in delight. From the night full of outrages, night like runaway wine, night of rusty purple, I fell to you like a wounded tower, and between the poor sheets your star pulsated against me, burning the sky. Oh jasmine nets, oh physical fire fueled in this new shadow, darkness that we touch by squeezing the central waist, hitting time with bloody bursts of spikes. Love without anything else, in the emptiness of a bubble, love with dead streets, love, when she died all her life and left us lighting up the corners. I bit a woman, I sank, fading from my strength, I treasured clusters, and I went out to walk from kiss to kiss, tied to caresses, tied to this grotto of cold hair, to these legs crossed by lips: hungry between the lips of the earth, devouring with devoured lip

The shiny and oiled plunger joyfully charges into the groove and spills its white burn that is more scorching the slower it is. A fleeting and disguised witness salivates and scrutinizes the opening that the volume dilates and that sutures its own lava. And in the oval tangential mercury on the carpet (the tower, daubed penetrating, dripping with its honey, leaving, entering) deciphers the ideogram of the shadow: thought is illusion: tempering slowly comes the one that is not named.

That's a beautiful body coming towards me. It stops. And he smiles at me. How beautiful is that red, wet smile that opens, like a sex offered to me, to ask something I don't understand. I look at her light eyes. I think, meanwhile, that his wonderful body beats next to me. Her breasts are very close to my chest and the hair on her crotch. He will squeeze, oppressed by the panties, which I guess are adorable and tiny. And like a nightingale sweet sounds warble from his throat to my ears. That incredible body talks to me. I answer: "I don't know." He moves his body away and I see his hips move away. most perfect in the entire universe. I have learn English. Right now.

Sexologist by Antonomasia I have called you again. Prisoner of the fleshiness of your thighs. Listening to you erect the mythical morbidity of this goat entity. Weightlessness drags me into the labyrinth. More like an addict, free fall takes me to the center of the earth and I want to continue towards the incorporeal abyss. I envision licking the amphora that redeems this stagnant thirst. Do you think that in your hands eating the algae that dive into concupiscence? Can I escape the nocturnal larva that perfumes you? Why turn on the light in front of those fleeting star smiles? Because you perceive me as shipwrecked in the dream island, you subjugate my phallic ego. Will dementia dampen my abstinence? Oh how poisonous are the darts of your oblivion! From those golden breasts I only drink now, melancholy.

Blond, polished breasts of Amaranta, by a whippet's tongue filed porticos of lemons diverted by the channel that ascends to your throat. Red, a bridge of curls comes forward and sets your wavy ivories on fire. Bite, wounder, your ing teeth, and bowed, in suspense, the wind lifts you up. Solitude, asleep in the thicket, sets its zephyr foot and descends from the tall elm to the sea of ​​the plain. Her body in shadow, dark, lights up, and gladiator, like an impure ember between Amaranta and her lover, she lies.

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 your son jump from the bottom of the earth. I was just like a tunnel. The birds fled from me, and the night entered into my 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 glasses on the chest! 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 fatigue continues and infinite pain.