Meatzz13: Meats 13”
Basic:
18 year old Man, 5'10" (178 cm)
Seeking:
Woman, for Casual Dating / No Commitment
Ethnicity:
Caucasian
Body Type:
Athletic
Personality:
Chef
City:
Profession:
Yea
Education:
High school
Religion:
Other
Misc:
Smokes Sometimes, Non-Drinker, No Drugs
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More Details:
Martial Status:
Single
Hair Color:
Brown
Eye Color:
Hazel
Longest Relationship:
Over 8 years
Second Language:
No Second Language
My Exercise Habits:
I Don't Exercise Often
Has Children?
Yes
Want Children?
Undecided
Has Pets?
No Pets
Has Car?
No
Political Views:
I Dont Follow Politics
Postal Zip Code Area:
33917, FL
About Me:
The meats 13 inches. The Pass of the Moor's Sigh
Seest yon path up in the mountains whence the wind comes sighing,
Dying like a groveling lover at proud Alhambra's feet?
There it was that her last sultan, beat by Christendom,
Pausing on his road of exile, cast a final eye
Back toward Granada's gardens and her Red Citadel.
"Last, now lost!" he cried, "thou regal seat of ancestors
Who with greater honor ruled among thy sweet arcades!
Last thou stoodest as a faithful on Hispania's brink
When in all the land around thee the Catholic sword had felled
From the towers of our castles the standard of our creed!
Lost thou art, by his own weakness, to thy unworthy king
—King no more, for I betrayed thee. 'Tis the Nazarenes
Now shall pluck the fruit that hangs from thy delightful trees,
And the sprinklings of thy founts shall cool their faithless brows.
Let me sigh and bid the wind bear down my sigh to thee;
Down this pass and down the ages let the wind re-blow it
Onto lost Alhambra's ramparts even when the mouth
Whence it issued has been sated, filled with deathly dust."
Seest yon path up in the mountains whence the wind comes sighing,
Dying like a groveling lover at proud Alhambra's feet?
There it was that her last sultan, beat by Christendom,
Pausing on his road of exile, cast a final eye
Back toward Granada's gardens and her Red Citadel.
"Last, now lost!" he cried, "thou regal seat of ancestors
Who with greater honor ruled among thy sweet arcades!
Last thou stoodest as a faithful on Hispania's brink
When in all the land around thee the Catholic sword had felled
From the towers of our castles the standard of our creed!
Lost thou art, by his own weakness, to thy unworthy king
—King no more, for I betrayed thee. 'Tis the Nazarenes
Now shall pluck the fruit that hangs from thy delightful trees,
And the sprinklings of thy founts shall cool their faithless brows.
Let me sigh and bid the wind bear down my sigh to thee;
Down this pass and down the ages let the wind re-blow it
Onto lost Alhambra's ramparts even when the mouth
Whence it issued has been sated, filled with deathly dust."
My Ideal Match:
Just someone to have fun
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