The Dark Angels are a come and go crew. They create then disappear like street art. Their works exist in fragments, particles that float, dust motes that spin before the wind that blows them to faraway places. They are individuals that work as one. Deep as oceans, as impenetrable as the night. Art urchins and poets, they dissolve before they form. They are the Dark Angels, they are discharge. They are a bloody mouthful.
9 comments:
This was quite the morning wake-up, I must confee. I can feel her toes carressing my ass, aaargh. Ah, to delve into the madness that is the female form.
party time!!!
Infernal act,
Exquisite,
Unrefined.
A sudden, yet inevitable, end point.
If you will.
Bingo!
"She was buns up and kneeling, I mean wheeling and dealing"
Zappa would approve!
im truly shocked! :o
makes 'me knees weak...
For me the erotic effect hinges on her facial expression.
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