Petals in flame, worn, pressed to the endless womb.
Petals in flame, worn, pressed to the endless womb.
Cinnamon kicks with sultry heat...
Born of desire and the certainty of my needs.
My cells emoting something primal and innately soul.
Entrance my soul from sleep into being.
The pulse—finding more channels to create from.
The oil slides into the pan, pooling, spreading, heat-entranced.
Peel away my love to expose your liquor sweet, shining in the sunlight mist.