Is It Normal For Penis To Be Different Shades

(Poppy, Alphonse Mucha)

As things tend to be a lament

long as long as an endless
smile at times like poetry

as wanted to be to these pages as often
opium dreams

sweeping aerial views and more wildly divine
all fantasies ...

The pipe dream of a muse
invented in the verses of a thousand poets also invented
on the wings of a bird, the strokes
Mucha, a dream

the
After
is nothing more than a small chunk of death

A pipe dream which I do not know if I ever wake up again ...



soon friends
My Kiss Opium Poppy

What Do Implantation Period Look Like

Quid pro Quo Fata Morgana

("Our current picture," 1942 David Alfaro Siqueiros)

I give, I give to receive and ask all of you, ask the entire time
on in your soles,
the sound of your passions underground
ask as much as I give you both if I
give you the uncontrollable fury of my songs that you want
chord angry lover in dealing with my wings.

crazy I'll give my insights,
of those that arise when you drink
points each time I leave the lucidity to escape jets
to demand from you that analgesia of lines displayed in your paintings
where all the causes and effects
and I can see at a distance with the telescope of my astonishment. I'm giving my

life sentences, songs
my remote nebulae,
the flame of each of my
fires that continue to exist
must rise and dance and you want every drop pearl you
forehead in the heat your days dissolving
towing time and anxiety.

I will give you the sound of my waves, you
poet without the discipline of time,
give you my night breeze
embroidering each of my bright moments of divine inspiration and you
the bitter aroma of this gin to break night,
I will give this dance anesthesia
sad and secret pleasure you and forgive everything.

And I give you everything
to consume my days in this liturgy is
habits that will not give up your daily delivery
burning and walking on the margins of all delusions
Where condemn you to give me all the dreams of the world And I'll give you
the best flight propulsion
poetry of my opium Endless verses.

Pilsner Urquell Where Can I Order

(The Painter and His Muse, Mercedes Vandendorpe)

you worry my skinny
not know that my fingers have
you sprouted my most beautiful lyrics. That
tumbling both have succumbed to order your embrace
just only your time, just your kisses.
do you worry when the wind whipping us
charges at the same time and see,
we stand ...

sad Do not let me through this October
timid leaning spring
you know, one of these close this Pandora's box and after the verses
not be stripped more than your face and mine
fragmented and inflated memories of verses ...
We lose some time on our streets to keep spinning
between spells this story unleashed
this trovar of greedy impulses that we have become.

Grieve not my sun
not feel empty, you see,
any day I can write to you with the usual intensity.
is true that life now weighs a little more than usual
you crave a warm body
much as I wish these muses declaims
and I are in sections, so elusive.

You know I'm still not convinced much of your music
invading my senses
walking disturbs me that love to lavish
and how few times I have felt ... Come
kiss you
curled in my lap while I sing the song without the habit
corrupted me. And violent
emerging from my city to yours
and I have to say without fear
no more kisses
that I will cherish.

What Year Was My Inland Carbine Made?

Details

(Fata Morgana, Zdenek Kopac)

I conjured in my entresueño lethargy hot day when the wind brought me back your image gifted and nomadic between flashes of light over a thousand stones scorching.
yet believe I saw in the distance, mirroring between the sands of my nostalgia as the perfect deception of the best of my abyss.

I could see in the verses of your muse, dreaming in my foggy images, burning between the illusions of my mind and searching arpeggios thousand cicadas the songs that I have promised.
Everything was written when I saw you in the mist of these arenas do not follow any illusion that it was not your storm, looking for the exit from the streets of mirrors with the wind as encouragement to all crumbled before my eyes liquid silence later in the desert.

evoked until you find yourself in the fullness of this immaculate universal silence on these feelings pilgrims between illusions of knowing myself, where the line is the slogan of your hands and mine, where your kisses are not only the hypnotic feeling that makes me to drink without feeling like I can be the face of mortal wound that invite me to be.

I've seen and know and feel when there are more than your hands that have to refresh my skin starting sun while the wind does not move, while stopping time in the vastness of the desert and I dry these pious tears dry without leaving any trace of memory. And if this
false or some, if not more than the fata morgana of my desires, will sooner or later be deciphered between the hot sand dunes and winding paths thousand of my letters and yours, even if others tell Jack ashore, I at least ... I can see you.