A pair of hands quietly painted bright nail polish on a pair of young and fair toenails, so all the erotica was full of everything that followed.
But that's all, after that, there is not even a picture that can be connected to the color stains, but there is an indelible ambiguity and desire everywhere. A kind of love that hovers on the edge of morality is really bitter. In fact, isn't this layer of paper entangled in people's emotions now, but who has ever thought about that moral boundary is not the bondage of emotions, the relationship between people Become the framework of emotions but forget that this relationship is the purpose of maintaining emotions. It is always the case. Every system is born for the better but cannot escape the fate of becoming a cage.
At what level can tolerance be accepted by the public? Perhaps it should be reduced to the level of self-destruction, mixed in the rolling torrent—that’s the one—insipid, day after day like yesterday, in a trance, like awake like a dream, like a fascination like drunk day after day.
Breaking through the many levels that bind the self and moving towards tolerance requires not only courage but also meticulous cultivation, otherwise indulgence and depravity are inevitable. Isn’t that moral and institutional framework designed to limit indulgence and depravity, but at the same time stop tolerance from being indulgent. outside. It's a pity that the boundaries of emotion are not as clear-cut as Shark Blockers.
Erotica is poetic erotica - a pear tree pressing a begonia!
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