Springing Eternal, Photo by BradensEye featuring Koko Bayer

The price of sweet sensuality is sensibility. It’s been a peculiarly contorted passage for me to arrive at my mid-life devoid of that romanticist touchstone dedicated soul who survives by curling into me at moonlight, will eat my experimental tomato or related pies, and allows my witchery to bitchery without blinking a balking eye. Yep, I’ve got no hubby stubble to chide nor bury my mouth upon. Not a lick of loving sticking enough to cozy close to my day-dreamery…