Red PoppiesRed Poppies
She was 18, her name was Alena. I remember her so young and naive, full of pristine beauty. With her delicate sight, she would pierce butterflies in my stomach. She always had a smell of flowers, mown grass and showers. And I also remember the blush on her cheeks – so embarrassed... Her brown braid-woven hair would nicely outline exquisite clavicles, and her lips resembles quivering poppy petals!
She was 18, her name was Alena. I remember her so young and naive, full of pristine beauty. With her delicate sight, she would pierce butterflies in my stomach. She always had a smell of flowers, mown grass and showers. And I also remember the blush on her cheeks – so embarrassed... Her brown braid-woven hair would nicely outline exquisite clavicles, and her lips resembles quivering poppy petals!
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Premium: JPEG · 1.79 MB · 1282×1920 · Portrait
Original: JPEG · 11.73 MB · 4016×6016 · Portrait
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