Monday, January 24, 2011

Wood Picnic Table Blueprints

Carrousel Canteens and Prostitutes

This courtyard is a carrousel

There is money to throw walking, waiting

a turn, the look of a

prey on others.

She is there,

shows his face and his eyes mist

the painted smile of lust,

it's cold and she wears blue

'll find the warmth between her legs.

The ladder is infinite in one second,

no alcohol in my blood and I want

fire is gunpowder on his sex and wants to exploit,

not think poison.

We

machines damaged by time

my shaking legs and breasts.

walls tighten and slips Savannah,

bed

fakes an orgasm.

I like your body, I hate the look

awakens me mouth, I hate his words

snuff on my breath is oxidized

she is a worn out body spilling

This time his skin is hot and harsh desert

their hands and go half scraping my chest,

but it seems a mu hurricane body dries

it is a hurricane that is disrupting my body.

This room is a carousel, turns, rises, falls, turning ...

Thirty minutes

heels touch the floor again.

Arturo Vázquez

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