Monday, April 12, 2010
Afterwards Comments
Rating: ★2.6
SHE opened her moist crimson lips to sing;
And from her throat that is so white and full
The notes leaped like a fountain. A smooth lull
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7/23/2025 10:53:16 PM # 1.0.0
A most weary thing It is within the perished heart to seek Pain, and not find it, but a clinging pall Like sleep upon the mind. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -If the pain is never sharp can the passion ever be deep?