In a city fair and beyond compare,
the women’s summer lays its scented flesh –
thighs, bellies and wobbly breasts – all bare,
exposed to testosterone suns in despair.
The White Gloves
You can find the book at https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/524218 The story is taking place in a magic forest. Little Red Ridi...
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Looking at distant words flashing through the window in the rain of tears. Like faint lanterns from a ship caught in fog, words sear... -
“Delicious strawberries!” the peddler cried I smiled, knowing he lied: Strawberries of this large a size are always the hormones’ pride, I t...
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