Ishilove:
"veined groin". . . I hope the aforementioned dosent mean what i'm thinking. . .?

Whatever the mind thinketh.

Larry-Sun:


Whatever the mind thinketh.

Ha!

Does my spoken words subject the genital to grow randy?

Larry-Sun:
Does my spoken words subject the genital to grow randy?

Yepa! Hell nah!!

Ishilove:
Yepa! Hell nah!!

Why doeth Seun changeth yours faithfully's posts

LMAO!!

Larry-Sun:
I'd rather speak in the Spartian language. Shall we meet secretly and see garments shred from the body!

Larry-Sun:


Why doeth Seun changeth yours faithfully's posts

No be Seun,na spam bot or whatever

I cud nt stop laughing while readin all of ur comments....I lyk pple who play wit words.....dis really is so nice....cheers every1

Ishilove:
No be Seun,na spam bot or whatever

My suspicion now rests on thou!

O! Ishi, fair regent of the night
I dare do all that may become a man
Who dares do more is none
There's language in her eyes, her cheek, her lip
The brain may devise law for the blood
But a hot temper o'er leaps a cold decree
Some rise by sin and some by virtue fall
Have you heard it fully oft
A woman's nay does stand for naught
Her writing was ever soft, gentle and low
An excellent woman Ishi is
Lady, you are the cruellest she alive
If you will take your style aloft
And leave herwithal no comment.

Larry-Sun:
O! Ishi, fair regent of the night
I dare do all that may become a man
Who dares do more is none
There's language in her eyes, her cheek, her lip
The brain may devise law for the blood
But a hot temper o'er leaps a cold decree
Some rise by sin and some by virtue fall
Have you heard it fully oft
A woman's nay does stand for naught
Her writing was ever soft, gentle and low
An excellent woman Ishi is
Lady, you are the cruellest she alive
If you will take your style aloft
And leave herwithal no comment.

O Sir Larry, thy passionate missive doth maketh my heart go tingba gban gban tin gban gba

egad! Sir larry laurenzo, i do declare, thou art a bard of some wily skiil o.

They do not love that do not proclaim their affection
Fair Ishi, radiant she
Who was born under a caul
Wherefore the moon hideth
The sky wept at her birth
And the earth trembled under her feet
The tender romance of thy writing
I know not who I love better
She or her fingers
Love looks not with the eyes
But with the mind
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind
I shall give no much rein to idleness
I now think absent my brain

O! Ishi
Lovely Ishi!
Sweet sweet Ishi!
Will thou plight my troths?

Larry-Sun:
They do not love that do not proclaim their affection
Fair Ishi, radiant she
Who was born under a caul
Wherefore the moon hideth
The sky wept at her birth
And the earth trembled under her feet
The tender romance of thy writing
I know not who I love better
She or her fingers
Love looks not with the eyes
But with the mind
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind
I shall give no much rein to idleness
I now think absent my brain

O! Ishi
Lovely Ishi!
Sweet sweet Ishi!
Will thou plight my troths?

I don't have a choice, I must plight that troths

BoboYekini: egad! Sir larry laurenzo, i do declare, thou art a bard of some wily skiil o.

Indeed Sir Bob,no be smalleth thing

Ishilove:
Indeed Sir Bob,no be smalleth thing

i sincerely hopest not! for sake of thine anticipatory coittus continuum.

egad

Thy face as smooth as monumental alabaster
I never know so young a body
With a style so magical
Oh heavens!
How romantic is her countenance
The fringed curtain of thy eyes advance!
In them my madness lies
Be kind, never you shut them
Should you shun my coquetry dispays
I'd find comfort in a bronze statue
Your toes unplagu'd with corns
Your heels untouched with spear
Your hair so full
And as chaste as unsunned noon
If thou hold my hands
I shall tickle your catastrophe
When love speaketh
The voice of all the gods
Maketh heaven drowsy with harmony
Yea! Talkers are no good doers
Men of few words are the best men
I shall halt here for now
Ishi...how you frost my apricots!

Larry-Sun:
Thy face as smooth as monumental alabaster
I never know so young a body
With a style so magical
Oh heavens!
How romantic is her countenance
The fringed curtain of thy eyes advance!
In them my madness lies
Be kind, never you shut them
Should you shun my coquetry dispays
I'd find comfort in a bronze statue
Your toes unplagu'd with corns
Your heels untouched with spear
Your hair so full
And as chaste as unsunned noon
If thou hold my hands
I shall tickle your catastrophe
When love speaketh
The voice of all the gods
Maketh heaven drowsy with harmony
Yea! Talkers are no good doers
Men of few words are the best men
I shall halt here for now
Ishi...how you frost my apricots!

O my head oooo...so swollen

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