sábado, 22 de abril de 2017

Lei era italiana

She spoke the language whose most words sounded like silk being ripped by the syncopated dancing steps of a high-heeled pair of boots, bleeding out by the flushes but tasting and running down as easy to the throat as honey; sometimes in doubled layers which cling to you like the remaining of a kiss coated in sweet venom.

I knew what she could do. She was Italian.


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