The Shadow Wolf

  • Hieroglyphics aligned on ribs, minus one, Forever hiding God’s scars. Her Highness’ lips I tease with royal honey.
  • Satin felt brassiere, unlatched with ivory canines as rabid wolves drenched in wanderlust, such in discovery of new fertile lands.
  • Iron cuffs bound to Persian bedposts have no greater link than I in Her, and I in Her is where Heaven and Hell merge carnal delights, angelic harps, with the echoing drumming of devilish hearts.
  • Painted moans sing from the canvas of her ageless soul, forever ageing slow…ly. Drink of my goodness and I will eat of your bone, both from below, Italian feather thread count immeasurable, as we lost angels shed in flight over the Ruins of Rome.
  • Lo and behold in champagne baths lathered in petals of rose, Beluga Caviar served upon the throne of our Victorian Turkish Bath.
  • Skin of Midas disrobed with only laced blindfolds above her nose, perfumes profuse while in admiration of her youthful ruse. 
  • Blood rises from her hidden sight, carefully applied rouge, and in unabashed nude, we howl at the last moon.

© S E U Nx

© Seun Gun Photography
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