Public an old piece, a little a bit of laziness because on Monday, and that in particular, I always feel the need to take stock and remember. A perfect silence has taken several forms since its original outlet paper: was posted in the laboratory with the wonderful colleagues iridelapsus with the Siddhas (read for yourself How much inspired by this gem of living Mugello), was traded in exchange a pastel portrait, one evening tried to look again at the end of precarious art - memory below the broken colors, broken dream translated from the legend - is set to become reading Sparflatz evolving along with the notes stolen time time, improvisation, and then at the moment, any new measure (and thus changed and comforting).
basically a story that is not without importance, like the memories evaporated with alcohol and dawn.
image: Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, "Guys with melons and grapes"
A perfect silence
Reverb sunrise painted on the wall of the bottle room of an indefinite image flickering. The air, now at rest, kissed by the split heat from the bodies, finally returned to freedom, through a stretch crack its icy wings, free from the breath, sweat.
bodies and wet hot and slow breathing in the stillness of the sleeping city.
On the street, the shuffling of who goes to work, who returns home after a night of celebration, regular booms, soft, muffled only by the light drapes hanging from the ceiling, the sheets crisp.
There is melancholy in the body that takes the throbbing loins. The stretched back in the supreme effort to open up, the hips, the birth of the world and the final decision of the flesh, like a purple vibrating. Low pleasure. Ecstasy in the blood rises, broke, sublime, and perfection, like invading. Attendance at last, deception, does not need of a choice, because the decision has taken the terrifying mask, valuable, irresistible, madness.
Darkness. Companion, guardian. From you, hands that shook not only sand, Rising. Perfection as an amalgam of desire, the model inconsistent oblivion. You insecurity, the barking dog, in dog panting in me changed into a dog, like a sorcerer's sweeping the moon. Semen perfect on perfect bodies.
Members thesis paint with their spears as the Venusian shadow queen. The excitement of the tooth trace on the new boundaries of her dark skin, which vibrates like reptile in the process of abandoning the old and torn, useless form. New
moods trace new paths. The pleasure finally evaporated from himself to the incomprehensible fear of possession, the new flesh respond to unexpected needs first, finally meets her deepest victory Sublima.
Embrace, tight. Velvet and rough feeling, tenderness, despair. The unconscious so determinately searched. The insecurity that becomes soft prey.
The truth does not cry out that voice.
The morning light bevel cutting room undone. The crimson dawning of the day, now, bully, with its burden of forgiveness, can only follow the passing away impatiently.
No more night. Each hidden shyness can only blush at the malice of the days to come.
remains is the scent floating in the silent room.
direction only, as the fingers of one hand, modestly concealed in his pocket.
I remember my body, naked. Perfect ending. In an effort, finally, to close that annoying window and stay a while 'in the dark, in silence, wrapped in nothing but sweat.
perfect ending.
In perfect silence.
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