Friday, November 6, 2009

Mount Screw Size Sony

at last

Sink chin on his right shoulder while the neck line embroidery by the chiaroscuro of the room. Are you telling me that tomorrow everything will be different and that above all things shall be returned to its place, elsewhere, in a world of spread sheets and pencils checked. You have no closer to choke, and conversely there is a universe where every time we have to invent him. I communicate with the freezing of your tears, flying hot on my sweaty skin. Sweating like a river flowing from the eyelids to the floor quickly. Sweat you, us, our recovery. What if I want to try tomorrow, I'll have to stretch your hands to feel the muscles tear the cartilage.
But here, you're still here, leaning on my shoulder, your eyes are warm and the breast hard and thrills that nudges open the eyelids, and were it not for that train and the row ahead of us on the track two, I would already banged on the couch until you beg for an accelerated return.
But it is with due calm that we are there we go. We're here, resting at home, in the balance between coffee and lemonade. With this absurd music we dunk and pulling them from the world as we us a line thrown into the sea. The fact is
that we do not scratch the spiglolo a quarter of an hour nor the stationmaster's whistle reverberated. The fact is that we dance, and the world at the margins are not interested.
Indeed, waiting for us.

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