Among the lips which overlap ice melts and runs pushed by the wind on your body.
quiver languages \u200b\u200bin the skin that touch
and hands cling to the meat,
grasping desire,
slipping on the debris pile of sharp glass,
without fear of cutting.
The air is filled with the aroma of coffee, that pops in mocha,
down on the skin,
rigando the bricks of the wall.
A greenhouse lock entry is not there,
you you're released,
I do not have need.
It closes a door, that seemed to open ...
And the darkness will not lick the edges del Nero.
Vento.
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