is right at that moment when we feel that that's what they call love is the skin of a hedgehog, sharp, cold and fragile, as fragile as a small glass doll hidden in a remote corner with the frozen heart and rough skin.
how you feel right at that very moment, hidden in his legs, groaning in silence, a silence as the room dark, an igloo covered with oblivion.
fly to are memories of a powder that surrounds soft ash, dies the heart and hardens the skin and does not burn, there are only stubble.
how you feel right at that moment when you become numb to pronounce the letters you no longer want.
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