NoemiThornee

With the white coat, care symbol, you are a lighthouse of calm in an agitated sea. Your serene look, mixture of strength and tenderness, in each gesture, there is life and sweetness. Hands that heal, touch without fear, heal wounds and lulle fear. You are light at night, shadow that accompanies, brave woman, a soul that does not deceive. White coat, layer of an earthly angel, in your essence an unparalleled power shines. You are hope, calm and truth, woman in Bata Blanca, pure love in humanity.

Desire dances in the half-light, like dark wine on her cinnamon skin, a goddess dressed in secrets and lace that murmurs novels. Vinotinto lingerie, passion made fabric, embraces your curves like a fire in candle. Each lace, a verse; each bow, a spell, and in her hips, the art of eroticism. Her skin, a poem of moon and honey, glowing in the shade, wild and faithful. And in his look, a discreet fire, which ignites the soul and disarms respect. There is no dawn that forgets its aroma, nor body that escapes its language. She is mystery, sin, caress... a queen clothed in lust and delight.

In a pink room of soft lights, she dances with curves that the soul engraves, the silk barely grazes her honey skin, like a sigh wrapped in paper. Her silhouette is art, pure desire, like slow waves in a timeless sea. His every step, fire and trembling, like a poem written with heat. The mirror looks at her, surrendered, enchanted, and the perfume of the air is trapped. Her hips speak without utterance, and silence dares to sigh. Pink the wall, pink the mystery, pink the sin wrapped in velvet. And in the middle of the room, she is song, a goddess of curves and temptation. 

Red fire in your burning mouth, sweet promise, sin and caress, portal of a kiss that invites to life, burning mystery, desire without haste. Lips of wine, blood and flower, blunt weapon that cuts the breath, cradle of laughter, tears and love, divine trap of the purest intent. When you pronounce sleeping words, your voice is dressed in silk and ruby, and even the night is surrendered to the spell that comes from you. Red lips... condemnation and tenderness, red flag of uncensored love. 

In the gloom dances his figure, curvilinear, fire, breeze and storm, wears a red dress - a brave - tissue in threads of sensual truth. Her hips mark rhythms of desire, the world stops when she see her walk, her silhouette, a secret in a clear game, as a full moon on the sea. Rage his walk with determined soul, he does not ask permission, he knows how to reign, he is a woman, it is art, it is cause and life, it is a storm that comes to fire. It is not just body, it is strength and poetry, it is meat dressed in freedom, its red does not shout, simply guide, like a lighthouse on night without mercy. Curvilinear, yes, like the mountains, like the valleys that want to sing, with their red dress opens windows where others just want to close.

Hips that draw moons when the night is inclined to look, a sway that lights doubts and a silence that starts screaming. Your walk does not ask permission, your flesh is storm and calm, the curve is art without judgment, and desire is hidden in your palm. Wine and flame lips, look that bends the metal, your body is a hymn that claims to be sin and ritual. There is no excess, there is abundance, there is no shame, there is majesty. You are flower in your arrogance, queen of sensuality.

Luna brunette, cinnamon skin, your walk is art, your voice, watercolor. Goddess curves, rhythm in your being, wake up without wanting. Your gaze, night that wraps, your lips, mystery that bites. You are fire that does not burn, but leaves the soul in sorrow. You dance with grace, like the sea to the wind, you carry the passion in each movement. You are poem without end or rhyme, living beauty, woman who encourages.