Oct 10, 2025
elvedon
who knows who's hanging dry. cartilage, unsung heroes scratching sorrows into walls bouncing tributes to wave-my-hips pardon-my-first sentence uttered into frequency
Loading...
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Russia
seen from Australia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
elvedon
who knows who's hanging dry. cartilage, unsung heroes scratching sorrows into walls bouncing tributes to wave-my-hips pardon-my-first sentence uttered into frequency
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
A sun-kissed dream
Iridescent in this humid
Daze, how do you defy
The bounds of space and time?
You fragile, facile, fantastic faerie
With your blue-sky smile you
Steal the air from my lungs
A translucent shimmer
You sleep in the skyline
And the hems of my skirt
I cup you like magic
My wish come to life
ana
every undulation
your orbital grace
flows with a wave, inn-
ovative, resound-
ing daybreak’s golden
pause, sculpting gel-
atin cascaded mauve, perched
jagged atop cliffnotes, you
somehow declaw my cactus,
singular in sun (cold
desert nights sway rhythm
to dance itself warm,
like unknown soft
you smoothen down),
watching over
others, filing
misgivings, with
vigilante
patience, bloody
honor appendaged
strength, unassuming,
you are dahlia,
pink balm blush to
crimson cherub
flushed halo en-
trusted thorned woes,
royal crowned wounds
they caused you
brush with scars
until soothed
A poem about a cherished memory
Disclaimer: not much of a poem, save for the line breaks (I know), but this is my utmost cherished memory. So I hope you'll forgive me. The love of my life bit me When I put my hand over the railing Of a kennel; He raced toward me with his Ridiculous floppy brown ears, And gnawed away, gleefully, Yet softly. I was saddened to overhear My mother, my sister; Their conversation with the buff breeder, About some 'stunning' Jack Russel Terrier, Aloofly parading somewhere I did not care. And I tried not to care About the pending Two versus one Situation In decision making. All I saw Was that pink pot belly of my Attacker, already surrendering To what would be Undying affection. Never did shoulders hang lower Than when I, silently, added my person To an already undoubtedly Heartbreaking conversation, Knowingly defeated. But then The breeder said that 'stunning' Jack Russel Terrier Was part of their breeding program(!); Neither my mother, nor my sister had Contemplated another option. I had. That one. I put my hand over the railing; The little bugger came running. And I love my mother and my sister For agreeing this was A sign among signs, not to be ignored. Then, confusion. The breeder asked if We didn't want a male. And I told her he was. But she flipped him Just to be sure. He was so small. Diesel.
sending you warmth, light, and clarity for your situation xx
ahh thank you sm ana 💗💗💗
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Have a wonderful birthday filled with love and lots of light xx
thank you so much for the beautiful wishes, love❤️ i had a great day!! <3
december is an evergrowing list of contradictory ideas because i have written three poems about her & none of them align perfectly. december is for words, i think, because i have never been so sad in my life and the history books tell me sadness = art so it must be true, yeah? i have written three poems about december but really her name is just a disguise (masking tape badly slapped over a word, scratches of heartblood over ink & skin) for the girl i am trying to not write poems about. i think i am running out of words. i think i am running out. (i think i am running. what i am running from?)
// sadness =/= art | e.k.
you once called me a river - rushing and hurtling over itself like the ocean contained, untamed, bleeding salt and sorrow. they once called you an earthquake - ground-splitting, dividing up the jagged corners of the world like it belonged to you. we were once called a waterfall, shattering the earth in a rush of roiling tides, until our voices echoed water and our hearts were buried in the sand.
forces of nature ( a. graham )