Blaspheme.
God, Our Lady, God and the Madonna. Cursing
rudimentary, to chip, manned by hearts and not enforceable as shoulders thrown into the pile to get the place. Cursing
to get the place.
and laughter that are not funny, crackling, harassing, desperate, drunk.
is a cheap but effective ritual to which they are ministers and the faithful, but those who were lukewarm.
I look at them with cat's eyes, of the azalea, by tile, from Asia: eyes that are all the same.
And they're all the same: boring, sloppy and desperate.
The praise of thirteen. The sheer number of thirteen. Too beautiful. Too bad. All true. All fake. Delicious. Repellents. The hook of
dall'incavo thighs, pulling her down on him.
The ride something in his ear, maliziosetta to talcum powder.
Look at Me, all day, every day. Even
Linda. Name sweet, blond hair, eyes downcast. Until yesterday. Today
simulates euphoria from happy hour, a measure of espadrilles strides the garden, its two rounds of pink pearls fall heads Coconut mother. A
. Two. Trequattro. Five.
It rubs on the wall, a little 'time to end the suit, will leave the old skin so soft but something to remember, dimly, as it was not his thing.
Certainly tonight, coming under the house, be ashamed.
course tonight, managing, under the house, is ashamed of having been ashamed. Why
in love and war anything goes. And this is not love.
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