arrive moments where the only thing I would do is just take off. Detach myself from you. You take off of me. Because despite the distance, to live in another neighborhood, another city, virtually in another world, everything is sticky, flammable substance that leaves me burned and soaked to your skin. The image on my retina grind with incessant chewing teeth with your outline imperfect.
My life continues despite the absence so yours does the same. But are there, and I am. Maybe I'm still in your night table, maybe not, I do not really. You are here closer to what I like and so distant at the same time, I would just tie my ribs stuck saberte, moist skin and crotch.
But no. Leo to another through your words and altar invoke anxiety. They produce cross your fingers that knew my most professionally perverse and profound pleasures.
perhaps only create galaxies in my link, my body and my tissues. Perhaps as the story says, things are not always what they seem. And if nothing really is like the little being gray makes me think, maybe this should be the end of my words, maybe just have to come down here so I can not download from Venus. You may have to stop thinking of you and write.
I will. Right now.
~
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