Sousuke

On those distant northern shores, Where ferny, mossy primeval forests meet the cold ocean, There lies a gray driftwood. One of the strong giants. It rests there now and thinks to itself: Where am I here? How did I get here? What has all happened? Where...

Exactly my type. Like a leaf-covered autumn meadow in the morning dew where cheeky sour winter apples frolic, swept away by the wind from their trees... Jazzily casual? Absolutely! However, less in the sense of a sultry...