Al Quotion. The Part Of Improvisation (№ 177661)

You dancing to the unborn universe. I touch the palm of your chest, I can feel it. You dance Nude extremely violent world. He breathes to the beat of my heartbeat, but... My heart is chaotic pulse, nervous arrhythmia of life, the sick spasms of the aging sky. The world you insane. The world is in you belongs to me. The world is in you trembles and bends under my hand and the line of the horizon breaks. I look into your eyes. Now in you the sun rises. And maybe I am a thousand times wrong, when dragging your hand on the roof, where the massive stars affect meowing belly sticking out here and there antenna. When I you breathe the roads that people walked thousands of years before us. When I bring the speed days to the limit, surpassing the limit that was desperately screaming brakes of the present. When I close my eyes by the hand and lead into the light, breaking the boredom of every step. When you lick your lips with this monotonous crying, stuck in the apathy of silence. When sweeping away from the table, these hateful pots and bowls, the utensils of everyday life, to kiss the throat to turn poslovnost sex into a tool of creation, to lance the boil of fatigue and makes of the body a new form of sensuality and passion. When I steal you from the stuffy office to escape the city and see thousands of birds rise from the ground. Maybe I'm wrong, perhaps, in this regular everyday you warm and cozy, and next to me throws hot, then cold. That might be so. But you dancing, madness, and the universe laughs. I can feel her. This means that the time has come to be her birth. As always, without specifying the price. And tomorrow when you Wake up, the world will be close.