Pool_2

Chill suits this place. Drink up. Thirsting men suckle on her inviting foamy breasts, for nurturing Leann offers the only real warmth to be found here. Her amber brown puckering nipples will warm to your lips too, as she kisses back. Suck another pint from her, she won't run dry. Besides, you need that magic which is in her milk to endure. Hers is the last enchantment. All others have long faded. Magic indeed! Was there ever any other magic here? If so, it's too removed. Salty stray from off the Irish Sea will never pierce this smaze. Smell her, instead. Press in close to her navel. Breathing, savoring her. Wrap yourself in her perfume. Draw her in and roll her in your lips. And listen. Past her fermenting crackle, ships in the harbor - steel talking to steel - bellowing deep, somber, occasionally strident - groaning and trailing off, all somehow subdued from within her lap. Listen hard. Shhhhh. There are no sounds of nature in this dominion of industry. So, console yourself with her effervescence away from the distant shrill commotion - at least for a while. You know you can't stay here. If you do you will soon enough lack her price. Then, just go home. Go, back into your pallor. Let the rich beery tincture of muddled tipsy bleach away, slipping you back into the dim drab of what you really are and never had hope enough to go beyond. In release - rejoice to an empty bladder. What else is there? Endure me, friend. She is only glorious until she owns you. Stay the last raise and abide. You will ache in her absence, but free your mind. Besides, the yellowed slut will merely consume your seed and never bear you children. Soak yourself in that reality. And one other. There, carved in flesh, traced upon that killer map which lies at your feet, lined in blood, the boundary scars of Ulster cut as deep as hell through stone and