she gra on my ha till im in tias
They hold my face, gently. These hands that have felled gods. Yet they create just as well, don't they..? The you they do not often see.
The romantic in me conspires.
They hold my face, gently. These hands that have felled gods. Yet they create just as well, don't they..? The you they do not often see.
The romantic in me conspires.