Works
rapid change
Author:
Categories: fantasy (fiction)
Statuses: Updating
The roc rises up with the wind one day, rocking up to 90,000 miles. The prodigal son's sword is good at killing the enemy. The flute of the bright moon softens my heart. Drunk on the knees of a beautiful woman, with her hand on her green silk. Pursed lips smile, too on the merciless, heaven to all things for ruminants. Ego without me only me alone I forget me.