High Way Adventure

Poets : Paciolo Pen Saint Ft Empress Paciolo: Gently - warmly Let your thighs caress secretly under my shelter A long creep into the flight of my mood Empress: I'll knee before thy lord For all praises and adoration in styles Bend before thy lord Covered in trousers Paciolo: What should I say if your fingers are resting their teeth Stroking lightly my rod Won't My Moses be stripped off holiness by the sea? & His offsprings surrender when their savior is bloated by the tip of your tongue. Empress: Scold my pink sea with your rod Whip me - Smack me & Toss me the daily bread in different pattern For the famished soul Has lost it strength to pull trousers Paciolo: After that: Let me pull the garment off your body Until what seems to disappear from me is revealed like a breathing chapter About the protuberance what God created About what's between the thighs is something I can not describe Empress: Lie like a warrior, Who has sacrificed all his strength for a war, Then I will make a path with my tongue, From the east of your body to the west, Ride you like bicycle, From North to South, Make the night howl the praise of a lavi da loca. Paciolo: I'm stirred by the longings I'll surround you with my left hand & You'll fall in fluffiness Pull you with my right hand towards me Rub your shore with the tip of my rod & Your dumb bosoms will tickle in fold of it I'll let the pleasure suck our hearts Empress: The pleasure will suck our heart, Like bedbugs suck bloods, When the chief guard give you way to the kingdom, Spread the hot creamy butter on it, & My mourn will penetrate into your ears, So the tired king rise again Paciolo: I'll cook you a delicious stab & You'll taste the grief The bed will creak & we'll be anxious When our joints weaken & We both get what we hope for I'll keep my head in your arms - kiss them Wrap my legs around your wet thighs We relax - fall asleep in trance like a child in our hands Empress: We will walk into the land of sleep, Dream about the Ups and Downs, Dream about the moans and styles, Our eyes will travel in the dead night, And open to connect the falls and rises of our worship. Paciolo: It's the trust - the pleasure It's the prominent race - not riches It's the happiness in us Love join them - & we long for it