Yeah, a small gift to a woman who wanted to be a mother most of her life and was well into her forties, biological clock reminding her everytime when her time of the month had arrived fertility was running short, high time to get that nutcase - Pauvre Moi - between the sheets and let him perform what he was made for...
Done on old paper I found in the street, with acrylics and pastels, late at night when the perils of another excistence plaqued me and prevented from Lord Morpheus' gracefull but sometimes fickle arms...
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