Nada but prurient thoughts.
Nil but salient spots.
A guilt trip.
Deep and swift.
It was cinco de Mayo when they first
His
It's cinco de Mayo and her their whooping love story is wringing like a bland little drama porno. He pierces his lusting eyes into hers and in turn, she stabs her starving lips against his. Deja vu, flashbacks of luxuria. Jamais vu, transitions of hysteria. Interwoven specks of love and lust loverly lust, binging over and under their thighs and thrusts. The pussy-cat in her is curling up and prickling down. Heartbeats are racing. Hormones are moaning.
Nada but prurient thoughts.
Nil but salient spots.
A guilt trip.
Deep and swift.
It was cinco de Mayo when they firstmet fucked.
Hisheart schlong was her piñata.
Nada but prurient thoughts.
Nil but salient spots.
A guilt trip.
Deep and swift.
It was cinco de Mayo when they first
His
Author
Eяin Heяoin
It's 3, antemeridian, and she wears her long-sleeved plaids. Dawning in humidity, her one hand holds a naked plastic doll with skin as mahogany as hers. Her mouth speaks in fabrics, her heart sinks with fervor. Near the train's end, she waits for him. Oh, the shivers he sends.
Just like a flashing strobe, she and him blissed up north. Dusking in frigidity, his left hand slides against her pallid palm, veins and vessels are calm. His throat thirsts with nicotine, his brain drenched in heroin. Far from the city's trend, he smokes with her. Oh, the trembles she makes.
It's 4, postmeridian, outfits of black and white, with a tinge of blood. A series of unfortunate events interweaves their late summer nights' dreams. She hums him to sleep, she swims in reverie. Oh, they daydream for so long. Their future tense, they spoon, him enclosing her.
Just like a black hole, never-ending phrases of dandies. Those '50s thrills and secondhand finds. 6-hour rides and stolen shots. Whether rainy, rather windy. Water temperatures. Frosted windows. Wander-full strangers, beautiful you.
Author
Unknown
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It's cinco de Mayo and her their whooping love story is wringing like a bland little drama porno. He pierces his lusting eyes into hers and in turn, she stabs her starving lips against his. Deja vu, flashbacks of luxuria. Jamais vu, transitions of hysteria. Interwoven specks of love and lust loverly lust, binging over and under their thighs and thrusts. The pussy-cat in her is curling up and prickling down. Heartbeats are racing. Hormones are moaning.
Nada but prurient thoughts.
Nil but salient spots.
A guilt trip.
Deep and swift.
It was cinco de Mayo when they firstmet fucked.
Hisheart schlong was her piñata.
Nada but prurient thoughts.
Nil but salient spots.
A guilt trip.
Deep and swift.
It was cinco de Mayo when they first
His
Ten Minutes After Ten
It's 3, antemeridian, and she wears her long-sleeved plaids. Dawning in humidity, her one hand holds a naked plastic doll with skin as mahogany as hers. Her mouth speaks in fabrics, her heart sinks with fervor. Near the train's end, she waits for him. Oh, the shivers he sends.
Just like a flashing strobe, she and him blissed up north. Dusking in frigidity, his left hand slides against her pallid palm, veins and vessels are calm. His throat thirsts with nicotine, his brain drenched in heroin. Far from the city's trend, he smokes with her. Oh, the trembles she makes.
It's 4, postmeridian, outfits of black and white, with a tinge of blood. A series of unfortunate events interweaves their late summer nights' dreams. She hums him to sleep, she swims in reverie. Oh, they daydream for so long. Their future tense, they spoon, him enclosing her.
Just like a black hole, never-ending phrases of dandies. Those '50s thrills and secondhand finds. 6-hour rides and stolen shots. Whether rainy, rather windy. Water temperatures. Frosted windows. Wander-full strangers, beautiful you.
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Born in the mid-80s, Erin Herøin is a marveller of non-sequitur writing, cinematic films, & analogue photography.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
Before, she used to be an aspiring physician; now, she is a newbie bassist who has 5.50/5.00 eyes & black tattoos on her right arm.
She's the former chief editor of Lomography's international magazine, the founder of Whilst We Wait, & the author of Paranoirexia.
Today, she curates and directs Parallel Planets, an online publication on creatives worldwide.
She dwells in the Eastern border of Manila with her pet pussies.
