I lose myself in the effortless rising and falling motion and watch mesmerised by the rising weight and force that curls not from the crest but drives irresistibly forwards from each truncated core. A muscularity that rips my breath away and keeps me a willing victim locked inside your own restraints, hits me anew like a stinging slap.

Mi persona ideal: A face that compliments the clarity of your voice.
With an intense, conscious intelligence flickering like a live wire, you’re kept holding fast to an elusive potential in which your heart is snared. A rippling intuitive response to my silent call releases everything bound inside, filling your body with tumultuous inspiration. Is your adrenaline stinging?