Sumi é
Blindfolded small pentagons only sees light on a black background. You may be drizzling. The window is ajar. Wind River is breathed. Smell the water Paraná. Always dreams of water. Once dreamed as a boy. Rang again and there were two. After more than ten.
They talk quietly. They hit some, offered no resistance. Irritates the hum of the dial badly tuned and sound Chinese cell phone.
Le alleviate both their perfume of jasmine and the moon exist only he knows. It is better that she's not here, I would have been wrong.
The alpaca scarf tightened lips. You can not scream. How would you like them deaf to a cry With his hands tied to the knee, pinched. Hurts ... still alive. Not appear to have good luck today, I announce the valleys and the tops of the furrows of the palm pressed against his leg. They stopped
. Lower the car to push. I get on a rail. The wind shakes. His head looks faster than the rest of the body. The rope weighs neck. Push him, folded down the middle. Thirty meters surpassing the impact with the water or into the ground is equal. First stone sinks and splash. The pain of the blow against the surface passes quickly, the cold too.
There is no chance, but another within it that is resisting, fighting. The puzzled looks I did not know he was there. There is little we can do. They end up stranded in the background.
muscles loosen it with the same calmness that when she stroked. May not see her again. Perhaps his lungs flooded his breath not house anymore.
galaxies are reflected in his dark suit as in a mirror, liquid sky. Listen
hit distant oars. Listen to the longing of breath, the evocation of the words I can not tell. Listen to the memory of his name inscribed on every inch of skin. This wrinkle skin pierced by the dark waters. Wrinkle your name engraved forever.
I do not mind the mud rubbing his eyes dilated and the vision of a world in black and white.
"Where is our home we are together," he swore once. If he were here, they would share this home. A home that disappears behind the transparent veil of Japanese prints on the rushes to be fanned. A home that plays with the bait flapping like birds flying overhead in the slow water. Water that invades little by little and leaves no territory unconquered. Bebe
last drink flavored clay and the last drop of salt water that flows from their eyes. Your body is swaying in a soft swing loose He left shoe and hide among the blades. As he rose to the trouble of tadpoles crawl into the mud feels long pounding all ... In all, about to stop. Dream
his breath, his breath. Ten inhalations. Five sighs. Three drowning. One no longer.
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