http://slow.writerscafe.org/nygoris The original writings of author Yoli en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776102875 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 deranged a*****e, better know that you're not worth a dirt under my shoe. Perhaps stop harassing women on random websites because you can't get your dick wet outdoors. dumbass. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/nygoris/2920410/ Of what stings, and brings stiffAir in the room. Room is small of fifteen years. Bruise in walls, paint that did not come with the bruises The White is spread, not spared of the many words that did not comefrom the guard,Smudged brush grey of years that did not swell of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/nygoris/2920313/ Fortnight set In a far-off castle.Your friend’s cats and bed -Me, yours mid-foreign flesh.Soon soap suds,We brushing sweat. You iced all icksWhen ichored noonNext anchored - me In those misplaced sheets. We were prancing Through woods, your aloofness,Your pai.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/nygoris/2908377/ hard time finding the perfect jean, hard time landing a part-time job, hard time sleeping, hard time strict with the iron pills. ore hour the orange juice spills; they are repainting the orange balconies - hard time selvedge a poem about the orange balconies that a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/nygoris/2907473/ The day end spent in the air after you quickly toke me skirt me you skin this afternoon.You said you loved me, I sorry greedy. You said you won’t fall in love with me the day after and I have witnessed what crumbling might do to the heart. You do make so tender; you do believe yourself mo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/nygoris/2903043/ une nouvelle en cours de traitement: polar et amours d'été (trompeurs) WIP of a short story I'm currently writing: summer loves and polar (unreliable) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/nygoris/2902901/ I felt the coffee I spell on your cheeks; Yesterday.It's of smells, the spelling in eating you - weeks.Grains, greasy gloss with your kissLicks - on my heart, the beating and relics.I taste the steam curl your hair through my teeth; kettle mornOver the crumbs, the farewell in our feast: wornDrip ? C.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/nygoris/2902899/