Like a bad romance novel, you write your ad

Location: Florida
Age: god only knows

Like a craft of war, we make love with the most incredibly hottest steam. With a passion that rips through our inability to express it, we explode into its wonderment.

We might as well be 200 feet up on a tree branch doing it or speeding down a hill in a fast and reckless in a radio flier wagon as we tempt our ten-hundredth orgasm.

Crashing with each other is what we do anyway.

They fly off so fast, we can't find our clothes after the deed is done and you snarl at the ways you just want it; your bedroom eyes seething with intrigue to inflame my lust. Our loud cries are born together as the other screams it a tiny bit more aloud.

We both give and take it like dirty directors in our life's sexual tension; an extension of our own inner reels of film playing out. We were well cast for this role; dirty dancing between the sounds that make no other dance comparable; but this is for our eyes-only.

It’s a breath in and out with each thrust and if these thrusts were swords, we'd be chopped toast. But it is real; our words and motions of sounds expressed from heart to heart in these temporal vestures of clay; these bodies we find our souls expressing their intertwined nature as being in love. Back and forth, I’m in you and you're in me. Day by day we stray into the flesh, hoping to see a gush of spirit in love's true bliss. We have been opened up by love's sexual haughtiness. Take it not for granted my love bean, you will be hearing the space between words that sometimes have become grunts with passion's released call to each other.

if you like, write back. ciao~

I snarl at your purple prose and wish to plunge my red pen into the heart of your grammatical errors. Oh, my love bean, I have seen the gush of your verbage, and released grunts of horror.