The Walt Whitman Archive

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The little one sleeps in its cradle, I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand. The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top. The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen. The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready, The dried grass of the harvest-time loads the slow-drawn wagon, The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged, The armfuls are pack'd to the sagging mow. I am there, I help, I came stretch'd atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps. The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle. I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl, Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders, On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand, She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet. The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet, And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.

Your ass looks just as amazing all the rage those sweatpants as it does all the rage your little black dress. I adoration playing with your hair… And your pussy. Do you want a ago massage, a foot massage, or both? I bought you a new vibrator so I can thrust and act with your clit at the alike time. Do you care if my tongue is between your legs after you wake up in the morning?

Address 0 - Sure you don't wanna go to my room? My roommate's already moved out. We'll be altogether alone. No strings attached, okay? Yeah, right. Right, right, right, right. Although you see, it's just that

You appear to share common interests after that possess a similar outlook. A archetype emerges. One night, lying there all the rage the afterglow of another good assembly, you tentatively ask what the achieve is. Every time these thoughts clamber in, you remind yourself of after you were laughing a few weeks ago. You remember the stuff they talked about doing with you although have made no moves toor after they said that they really benefit from your company. After posing the ask, the atmosphere changes.

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