Vermilioncore
Fear…
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2019
- Posts
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Living in a rainy city. The smell of maple encompasses me. Smoke from the chimney emits itself into the air, then travels a short distance before hugging the spires in the distance.
I have a home library. Windows are not much different than the stained glass windows you see in a cathedral. The bookshelves are tall, dreamy, and full of engravings. Samuel Beckett has found his home in these shelves. Sartre has found his home in these shelves. Tom Stoppard has found his home in these shelves. Dante Alighieri has found his home here.
On a bronze table beside the maroon love seat in which I sit, rests a glass of gin. Tons of my brilliant writings lay beside the glass, yellowed by the passing of time.
When I get up and go into my bedroom, my girl is bent over, spreading her ass, awaiting my throbbing, veiny dick.
Then, I know I’m in the first level of Heaven.
I have a home library. Windows are not much different than the stained glass windows you see in a cathedral. The bookshelves are tall, dreamy, and full of engravings. Samuel Beckett has found his home in these shelves. Sartre has found his home in these shelves. Tom Stoppard has found his home in these shelves. Dante Alighieri has found his home here.
On a bronze table beside the maroon love seat in which I sit, rests a glass of gin. Tons of my brilliant writings lay beside the glass, yellowed by the passing of time.
When I get up and go into my bedroom, my girl is bent over, spreading her ass, awaiting my throbbing, veiny dick.
Then, I know I’m in the first level of Heaven.
