Those who follow where their genitals lead them often wind up in tedious company.
Under attack, sentiments harden into dogma.
Few things are worth doing perfectly.
Smooth white skin invites something that will leave a trace, a kiss or a slap.
Lechery is secretive, but must finally reveal itself to at least one.
My taking a seat on the Council of the Fathers caused a desperate fluttering among my ghosts.