“In a cold night of somebody. Is there other breath? What did I say? Or do? Mercy. MERCY! There is nothing. But did I do it? I did something. Merciful, merciful, O God, what? And Am I still drunk? Not nearly enough.” —James Dickey

thirsty for thighs and that little thing you do with your mouth

. . .

After the raven has had his say I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you

Some of us know exactly what is going on. . .

No promised heaven, these wild desires, Could all, or half fulfil; No threathened hell, with quenchless fires, Subdue this quenchless will! ——— Emily Jane Brontë

#SeductiveSunday

You’ve always been a man who loves excess…