Homer Simpson Tattoo Women Crotch

and still go to the front ... Clemente alchemist

After a month of my birthday I walk like a gentleman, with a blue flower in my lapel and a bouquet of chrysanthemums in hand. I have a pillow elephant holding my head crazy dream and I remember only the good memory. And a perfect dinner that sheltered the heart of June at the time of those who want much. I

warm this winter, this time does not surprise me because that I have a pair of socks and three scarves, the first parcito I can say that safe passage is only possible without the numbing cold feet; of second that I have one who cherishes my past, one that combined with my daily life and spirit of beauty, and the last, which could be the first or ever, that not only has my time well spent in their threads, but is the contrast of my essence pulse tissue as only someone who loves unselfishly can. My scarves care my voice, although naturally goes through my hands, to lift it out of my mouth unrepentant word is becoming more honest, raw and helpless, but so well protected by them.

And I carry new evidence of life in the beauty of the world: music, film and literature. What would my body without the vibration and how would my spirit without a body that erupts each time a chord, a scene or a verse are transformed into a wonderful bolt opens my chest in a different breath, enough to propel me to push the boundaries of the known.

treasury share something I received that day, new life Penalty Hahn.

After the fire

I have to collect my rubbish
give the human form that had
and move

Let there
embers in his eyes and clouds of black smoke into the soul

Some scars
by Here and there are acceptable

rest is lie back pain to clean the ashes

and continue walking

Shooting Star

Without
God's love without the love of God and years go

So flies

vainglory of my world

Meanwhile the great genocidal
time sharpens his scythe

And in the depths of my heart

the gods shine by their absence

Night and Fog

To hide the fog in that impenetrable density

floating in the evening as a coven of spectra

At its heart are played
things that are not of this world

And when the fog
will also go with it unthinkable possibilities

The world is again
sharpness and everything remains suspiciously clear

For clarity can hide the worst secrets

The fog is not intended to shed any light on anything transparent
:

obnubilar is your occupation
diffusing the world Gloss over the reality

And he tells us with words of steam:
"There are more things in heaven and earth
of dreaming in your philosophy"

To look into these things
should not dissipate the fog
fog must be
and look inward.

I go forward with a way forward. I appreciate the love of my real friends with this song Maurito gave me and I leave in Salieri ... click here.