louvre99's Profile
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My Details
| Country | Italy |
| Age | 47 |
| Location | |
| City | Rome |
| Preferred Age | From 60 To 75 |
| Height | 5ft-5ft2 (152-158cm) |
| Body Hair | Smooth |
| Facial Hair | None |
| Build | Slim |
| Smoker | Non Smoker |
| Role | Versatile |
| Ethnic Origin | Rather Not Say |
| Last Logged On | Today |
| I consider myself | Not completed |
'Like to meet people interested in Classical Music Art Travel'
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To Edward, Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away,
Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned:
We were everything to one another above all we had very strong bonds to one another deep connection between based on mutual trust, understanding, and respect. It is a relationship that is built over time and is characterized by a sense of closeness and loyalty. He gone before me so he knows I will suffer of his lost,
I consider me self quiet person, Interesting, intelligent and (modest)
Comes to Rest
It must have been one o'clock at night
or half past one.
A corner in a taverna,
behind the wooden partition:
except for the two of us the place completely empty.
A lamp barely gave it light.
The waiter was sleeping by the door.
No one could see us.
But anyway, we were already so worked up
we'd become incapable of caution.
Our clothes half opened - we weren't wearing much:
it was a beautiful hot July.
Delight of flesh between
half-opened clothes;
quick baring of flesh - a vision
that has crossed twenty-six years
and now comes to rest in this poetry.
Constantine P. Cavafy
About Me
Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned:
We were everything to one another above all we had very strong bonds to one another deep connection between based on mutual trust, understanding, and respect. It is a relationship that is built over time and is characterized by a sense of closeness and loyalty. He gone before me so he knows I will suffer of his lost,
I consider me self quiet person, Interesting, intelligent and (modest)
Comes to Rest
It must have been one o'clock at night
or half past one.
A corner in a taverna,
behind the wooden partition:
except for the two of us the place completely empty.
A lamp barely gave it light.
The waiter was sleeping by the door.
No one could see us.
But anyway, we were already so worked up
we'd become incapable of caution.
Our clothes half opened - we weren't wearing much:
it was a beautiful hot July.
Delight of flesh between
half-opened clothes;
quick baring of flesh - a vision
that has crossed twenty-six years
and now comes to rest in this poetry.
Constantine P. Cavafy
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