Another half a minute, and it will be too late...

Anshe



Another half a minute, and it will be too late to take the tickets
a couple of breaths, and the scar on his forehead burst into sweat.
Intermittent moan they drown out the airport, he
axis for two, a hidden refuge from the avenues...
The eyes of love slowly, and do not care who it looks crooked.
Life melts away like a scattering on the slice of the sky from the plane
again summer through his fingers, and they are not trampled either Rome or Rio...
There used them, where Jennifer Jordi — the photographer waited two years
shot the moon at the Manhattan firmament,
bloody red behind skyscrapers-
successful calculation of the trajectories of the moon and sunrise...
And if they were there, their life became a little less fucking b...
Then play the cowboys would jerk to the wild West,
and become wild in a restaurant; in a hotel with no curtains
where she passionately... he later her drink in one gulp,
on the chest of her naked, throwing a Stetson...
Scenarios a lot, interference is trivial: the limit of freedom;
diffidence, which he, as in laughter, calls ”old age”.
...Again, not flying in connection with the Almighty bad weather
enveloped in a huge glass tardiness...