The window is impossible white and the sun, weary of the heavens, staring at your knees through him. Going west, it vanished with the last ray they stroked them without sacrifice ... Tranquil, shriveled and the sunshed among themselves, lighted by the lips! Drunk of the moisture in the curves of the body, I sought them without shame and I have poured in them, and will remain there like in an altar, prayerfully powerless.
