Why dirty talk at dawn is not for the birds

I romanticize every sunrise I see. Whenever the first light appears from behind the clouds, the sky hosts a grand ceremony to celebrate life, death, ecstasy, and despair. It turns into a soaking wet fruit salad. There are rosy cherries, honey-roasted plums, and smoked orange slices. One time I saw a pineapple undress itself. The... Continue Reading →

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