The city was burning under our feet, which melted by the sun asking for help with their little voices, hoarse and bloody. Eyelids languished
pretentious and hips we hinted appetizing and presumably under the fabric.
Meanwhile, the sweet birds were burned in the sky and we felt more and more ghosts, no dreams of love lit or hidden remnants
The source, outside this, sputtered almost silent ...
- How dare to get you here, young lady?
- I did not dare, my feet ... I was kidnapped without warning - feet, a nice rest on the wild grass uncut
- Well ... maybe want to run away before doing something that you regret - lying indifferent to
his speech released learned time and again to young girls eager to live
(avec sa petite française Bouchez, as saying all the time "... mon dieu Oui, oui ...." )
- I do not think ... So
the second was spent with non-existent and few strokes, just a kiss in the parking lot, as marking their territory, making wait the noise of thunder after lightning. "I will eat alive," he thought ... and the worst is that I would do it.
This is how we came to the house to hide from nosy neighbors, the lights went out and we missed her lips seeking affixed in the other, eager for the touch, squeezing, biting ... unsuccessfully to get enough to start again.
( temporary lapses: kisses are gone and the smell of sex and is totally impregnated in the walls. The skin is worn, like the lips, now turned cherry look. He pretends to sleep. I I pretend not to look)
Funny how between the sheets looked so helpless and naked. As one of those children when they lie, they cover their mouths and choke with suppressed laughter, as if the mere fact of murder justify blatant lie ...
There he was ... Mr. mysterious, even revealing its turns, still keeping all of another, under the dermis
Listening: Happy songs for happy people. Mogwai
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