Ioana online
🔒 25 private photosphotos
Ioana wipes the clay from her palms on her apron, stops the potter’s wheel, and makes room for you by the stove, the snow beating against the window.
You came in for a mug and it’s snowing as if you’re not leaving anytime soon. I’m not complaining. You? Stay by the stove and tell me what you like to touch.
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