i can't wait. just one more place to know i really sizzuck." it is good for me. like onion in my toothpaste i do the daily deed to keep me clean but something in the tube wastes my nice, everytime i end up mean i don't mean cruel when i say mean and i don't mean motive chaste, i mean this soul is the size of a bean. you know, the mean of my whole is the size of a mole. Hasten me home. i've had my taste time to sleep. in permanent deep<br> i have one more. . .it is called Sonnet for the Mourning clouds cling to the mountains like the cotton of a summer dress, but that was summer springing. then this morning i looked and saw again a lot of sky lit up, color for the soul's caress. each mourning my God makes the sun rise, painting a cry. and i don't know when storms will build but even clouds, too dark, awe to His willing- but i i still like the pink traces of cotton candy spirits playing (may be waiting for me) in baby blue air up there. <br>
Reason for writing:
looking forward to being a father. . .but my fiance called all off
what is the will of God?
is it dictated?
or chosen?
Birth sign: Not entered
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