Analysis of this wild dream, a book in one hand titled "The summer" and of shock I realized the gloom, the damp faces and a moist look on her lips. Fragments of time, pictures, love and spastic movements in continuous repetition, more or less like your beating heart. All this information must be transferred somehow, throughout and circulating; the fragments of yourself blend into itself and create whatever new. That art, looking at me or the other way round. Mary stood in the reflection, her watery eyes so innocent and pure, she looked confused and a little happy, she knew something I didn't.
Here a loud noise woke me from the blissful feel of translucent skin, its touch making me feel crisp down to my soul, the very fabric of that skin, those tedious patterns so beautifully symmetric and fragile.
It was the common, ignored, unheard noises of progress. Today, I am awake, this would be the third of this kind this month. When all you have to do is dream, waking becomes a challenge, most with imaginations are always asleep. When no one knows the truth, when everything you know could be a potential lie..
I was scared just like you, running frantic for years with more questions.
Three hundred meters away there was a cliff, overlooking the sea where lovers gathered in this holy moment, this chance of being alive together just for a moment, then letting go. She waved to me, and I floated over, "Do you hear that huge thumping noise?", asked she pointing down at the yellowing hay, below the edge, that was drying in this immense heat but felt soft with the breeze falling upon everything that the eye could see. I was alive, at that moment. I was alive.
I completely lost track of the question, the flaring of her nostrils as her lungs filled up with air, saturating the oxygen in her bloodstream, sending rosy signals to her cheeks and she flushed and grinned, she wondered what I thought, at this point I was alive, and no thought could trouble my peaceful mind.
The slight push and the cozy feeling with a little tinge and softness of cotton, clear eyes looking into mine. Shoulders buried deep in the crease marking the point of excitement, eyes wide, smiles and peaches. Shrill screeches and true music came together and created this masterpiece that works on pure feelings and meaning. You are an instrument.
Meek features of your soul, the disregard for allegations and beauty of the diamonds, you tasted of awareness, wriggle and throw fits but this won't finish that easy I will devour you. Porcelain, clear and reflecting legs all branched up against concrete, the music will flow the deeper I feel. The last tug fades, as its resonance speaks through convulsions of thought and feelings of euphoric confusion , a conquest breached, as the pheromones injecting through you and me forge a collapse. Unlikely to be seen.
Here a loud noise woke me from the blissful feel of translucent skin, its touch making me feel crisp down to my soul, the very fabric of that skin, those tedious patterns so beautifully symmetric and fragile.
It was the common, ignored, unheard noises of progress. Today, I am awake, this would be the third of this kind this month. When all you have to do is dream, waking becomes a challenge, most with imaginations are always asleep. When no one knows the truth, when everything you know could be a potential lie..
I was scared just like you, running frantic for years with more questions.
Three hundred meters away there was a cliff, overlooking the sea where lovers gathered in this holy moment, this chance of being alive together just for a moment, then letting go. She waved to me, and I floated over, "Do you hear that huge thumping noise?", asked she pointing down at the yellowing hay, below the edge, that was drying in this immense heat but felt soft with the breeze falling upon everything that the eye could see. I was alive, at that moment. I was alive.
I completely lost track of the question, the flaring of her nostrils as her lungs filled up with air, saturating the oxygen in her bloodstream, sending rosy signals to her cheeks and she flushed and grinned, she wondered what I thought, at this point I was alive, and no thought could trouble my peaceful mind.
The slight push and the cozy feeling with a little tinge and softness of cotton, clear eyes looking into mine. Shoulders buried deep in the crease marking the point of excitement, eyes wide, smiles and peaches. Shrill screeches and true music came together and created this masterpiece that works on pure feelings and meaning. You are an instrument.
Meek features of your soul, the disregard for allegations and beauty of the diamonds, you tasted of awareness, wriggle and throw fits but this won't finish that easy I will devour you. Porcelain, clear and reflecting legs all branched up against concrete, the music will flow the deeper I feel. The last tug fades, as its resonance speaks through convulsions of thought and feelings of euphoric confusion , a conquest breached, as the pheromones injecting through you and me forge a collapse. Unlikely to be seen.
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