Each time it is there waiting for me. She stares at me. With its reclining Curve Model and it is there, motionless, immobile and static. With a silent violence try to draw us to himself. I want to incorporate in him. He wants my body takes shape on him, his form. He wants to be touched. He wants his skin comes into contact with mine. He wants the smell of old news come into my nostrils and sediment long there. He wants me to see the world from one perspective: his own. He wants my eyes remain fixed: he wants to address the trajectory of my eyes. He wants me to take us taste ...
But my senses do not give up again and move away from it with a morbid curiosity peering from afar, at a safe distance!
I liken it to a prostitute you have received too many people, but many still wear the signs of memory?
not want to be one among many, and for that, I'll ...
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