I'm looking for a friend to play with and please.

1/4/2009 8:56:43 PM: Even days. A necklace of milk fractures outside the door of a randomly removed room. Sighs of winter sooth the street clothes of the corner barber. Words have been molested to harvest poetry for clouds to stay in bed. A cache of hearts offer stamps of approval to pickled fruits who nod knowingly.

As more gossips gather to debate a shoe merchant's dresscode, visions are attached to the doll with the swollen armpit. Withholding new stars from eyelids of eccentric oceans, a litmus sky must resurrect news for blindfolded buds to be photographed. Where a pair of slippers had shrunk with the eventuality of a routine medical examination, rejuvenated clouds practice trances to the evade passionate eyes of gloved sand soldered to a conveyor belt of broken apparatus that suffocates a heart ......
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12/28/2008 3:57:41 PM: The bougainvillea curtain conceals a secret door. Once opened behind it, the maestra awaits by the stairs. She smiles with a beautiful face adorned with a golden emblem. The victorian air of an egyptian queen. This room of many mirrors exuberates some kind of warmth that feeds an indescribable feeling of ruthlessness. You can almost visualize shadows breathing besides a steel cage rested by the saltire cross. Waiting to pounce.

Kneel down. Stand up. Crawl over there. Her orders i obey. Shirts unbuttoned. She discovers my bones. Not much flesh there i muttered slowly. Her laughters distribute silence across the empty chamber of my body. Why am i here? Becoming vulnerable. "Your skin is smooth." "You're so light I can lift you up like this."

I suffocate in the prison of her musk. Raw. A prey in the amazon. Repulsed by the breaths of her closeness. Drowning under its rawness. I want to run away. Unable to break free from the cross. She sinks her teeth deeper into my ear.

The language of her fingers scribbles a pattern of shudders. Lust. Ignited.  Repeat after me. I like it when you touch me like this.

She carves a gigantic fork across my skin. An object with fine metallic tips. A bundle of fresh meat sits restless on her picnic table. To be ravaged, consumed, finally discarded. My fate. The sharpness of her claws. I struggle to discount my fear of bleeding. Doesn't she look like a shedevil with that dangerous thing? Her timing of humor is impeccable.

She undresses. A real woman. The softness of her breasts illuminates a pale moon that glows so exquisitely i'm afraid that i would upset this pendulum of perfection by touching them. Her mouth devours my spirit. Her motion relentless. The mirror has insatiable thirst. I love it when you touch me like this.