I wake up back first. Thrown out from laughing at the idea that I meant anything to her. Twice before she wilted; a counterpoint to my gorging on sandpaper grains. Smoking under umbrellas so the clouds her lips shape will yellow all skin but her own. Overcast peels back. White suns appear like kneecaps crowing the wounds of crouching legs. We were no heads, just faces with necks mingling in garbage tourists have blackened with value. Why wish for your love taps when time will batter the shingles in?Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
