Black New Yorker Slammed In Her Pooter
I am ready to stay it even for an. On this endless pink hill The finger climbs a hump, freezes, rolls down to the cartilage, finds fluttering wings - I. Am a sculptor who has found a divine gift, contemplating the creation of nature. The pad strokes the cartilage, confidently rises to the hump. I lick my lips, caught up in the process. I do not notice Alla, she remained beyond understanding, beyond the visibility of my consciousness.