Weeping Roses

I am not an Artist. But the roses, they wept and wept and wept

watching a woman undressing, and witnessing a dim light caress her skin, and letting your hands lightly and barely touching her, then aggresively grabbing the back of her neck and pressing her lips against yours passionately so that your soul is released through breath and you have to say nothing but violently love her body and watch it reach a level of climax that has never before been witnessed has got to be the best fucking feeling in the world - Chay