in the outfield, putting fingers into the ground and hit the morning to feel them. Believe me flower of a cold day in July and perfuming the pillow and winter. Breezes give you kisses, poems and slides in the garden. Read your books that others wrote and fill you with honey and excuses to return to feel you again tomorrow. Feel that this does not make sense, and scratched the words, and vowels do not fit. But just invent a hug and utopia, undressing the puffs of smoke to draw them on the sheets and sunrises. And excuses refilled kisses and tireless suburbs looks to paint on your skin everyday. Vomiting
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