Scanty said:unclehobart said:Thee standeth ayre high above the mists of the midwinter moon, angelic in rainment, delicate as a jasmine vine tracing the border of circulae balcony stair. Each whispher, heavy as returning honeyed bees, find their way to mine lips, doth leaveth mineself as awakend as a new born deer... struggling for first steps... enstreched to attain the glory of the glint and gleam of thine angelic facade' ... falling short, unable to obtain rapture.
I'm strangely aroused.
Yeah, me too, I wish I could speak like that. I always get stuck somewhere in the middle mumbling hereto