domingo, 18 de enero de 2009

Personally random

Answering the phone in my imaginary nursing home, a strange voice asks punctual. It invites me to an inaugural rivalry. What in life. I can't help but seeing this ingrown serendipity expanding in me. The deformation lingers inside my socks and seems to be the epitome of your legs. Our intercourse felt strangely beautiful, though openly violent. Your handicap licking cherries made me realize the solubility of the matter. My personal meteorologist advised me to ask the bullfighter weather he sometimes fantasized about IMF in-your-face or simply wanted to die.
Anyway, I think this is the ideal way to fuck a typographer. Raw typewriter and plop, it's over.


1 comentario:

Pablo Murillo dijo...

No siempre. Hay quienes no buscan herirte. Y, de hecho, no lo hacen (hacemos).