Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Biography / Autobiography
- Published: 02/26/2013
CRACKERJACK CANYONS
M, from Baltimore, Maryland, United StatesCRACKERJACK CANYONS
My true nature plays to not with...the real world on my plate...framed by the rippling waters...she straddled on flamboyant feet...first slipping before taking her stand...on stones she formed a human arch...beneath a handsomely jagged peak...french kissing the pathos found in a passing sky...above the bright mind of a sweet heart
...how romantic the rails...when your presence made the trails all the prettier...I felt like a library book...you never tired of checking out...my hard binding no match for your soft lining...like a lyrical loch nessie...she emerged from the country lake...looking less like an upset ogre...than a mermaid on the make...with thighs...men's eyes...die for
...in the pristine brook bubbling cool crooked and swift...along lozenger rocks lodged between the daydream pebbles...and the semi-magic throne...of a rustic covered bridge...seeming in its streaming...to connect that pleasant scene...to a river bound theme...all aglow in dappling shadows upon a mother and child...in happy homage to the sun set table...among the golden folding flowers...a distant girl dances in the grass...her discarded panties my fragrant bouquet...for a heaven grazing after the rebellion...against a remembering of there and then
...when nothing was the matter with the stars we couldn't see...from crackerjack canyons...no mending the mess...of puzzles in pieces...in a good life gone bad back to a life never fair...we die alone...life is a loan...gained not a given...drained after driven.
by L Douglas St Ours
November 2012
CRACKERJACK CANYONS(L Douglas St Ours)
CRACKERJACK CANYONS
My true nature plays to not with...the real world on my plate...framed by the rippling waters...she straddled on flamboyant feet...first slipping before taking her stand...on stones she formed a human arch...beneath a handsomely jagged peak...french kissing the pathos found in a passing sky...above the bright mind of a sweet heart
...how romantic the rails...when your presence made the trails all the prettier...I felt like a library book...you never tired of checking out...my hard binding no match for your soft lining...like a lyrical loch nessie...she emerged from the country lake...looking less like an upset ogre...than a mermaid on the make...with thighs...men's eyes...die for
...in the pristine brook bubbling cool crooked and swift...along lozenger rocks lodged between the daydream pebbles...and the semi-magic throne...of a rustic covered bridge...seeming in its streaming...to connect that pleasant scene...to a river bound theme...all aglow in dappling shadows upon a mother and child...in happy homage to the sun set table...among the golden folding flowers...a distant girl dances in the grass...her discarded panties my fragrant bouquet...for a heaven grazing after the rebellion...against a remembering of there and then
...when nothing was the matter with the stars we couldn't see...from crackerjack canyons...no mending the mess...of puzzles in pieces...in a good life gone bad back to a life never fair...we die alone...life is a loan...gained not a given...drained after driven.
by L Douglas St Ours
November 2012
- Share this story on
- 6
COMMENTS (0)