Book: About love for all living things

Fuck, love, fuck... I don't want to meet You and look at You as a wife Stirlitz, the eyes full of silent hope and despair. I don't want to the blood, bite the lip, looking like You're gently moving towards... for this girl. I don't want to.
Fuck, love, fuck. My letters is not intuitive lyrics, that's a month and a half of this sadness, which become ten years older and twenty years stupider. I'm like a Cobra that's ready to shoot, and she was struck with a shovel. She wobbles, losing precision strike, and misses by half a meter, instead of one kiss to get his.
Fuck, love, fuck. It's hopeless: I can approach You, not tears, only when I love thee not. But working together, we can, as long as I love You and I feel every movement the twilight of Your soul, Your confusion. You need my emotions, but they do not give me peace to do business.
Fuck, love, fuck. If I stop loving You, why do I need You? You didn't fulfil any creative design. Every time in Your life was another... another girl, You started a new project in line with her passions: first, You paint a picture, then doing reports, now You've decided to do the design. But if You're going to love the vet and will take delivery from the branch I have to write about it?
Fuck, love, fuck. I'm not going to work with You on Your future with this... this girl. Exclusively from harm - will not. Not too bold to You: happiness in personal life and success in your work? Pick one, because I have neither one nor the other. Not too bold: save and loved and loving? And kind, and beautiful? Eat fish, and love to do? So, the fish You do not eat.
Fuck, love, fuck. We were delightfully honest with each other, too late now to cheat. I left in sorrow, and just, and if now podovrat small things, it will hurt. But we certainly do not resist, because we still want each other and You have an erection - even when you hear my voice on the phone.
Fuck, love, fuck. Soon my life will be tall, blond with a scar that will not leave her no room for You or for Your projects. But if I start to do Your business, he may decide to appear.
Fuck, love, fuck. I am not only man, but woman, I need love. This work will cost me blood, but You have nothing to pay for it because You can't give me what I want.
Fuck, love, fuck.

No, men just aliens. And genitals they have a wonderful and inhuman logic.

Thank you, dear, that you were with me. And now you're with this girl, and I'm sitting here alone in a stupid position and are trying to find inside something alive. In the emptiness of my heart has to emerge some ball, a spark, a point of support. Any crap that I will be able to hold on to.

My love lasts until you remember the taste of the skin in seven places: behind ear, above the collarbone, below the knee and the crook of the elbow, between the shoulder blades, over the buttocks and in the pit near the French bone.

My life will be different men, and each of them brings new shades of love, so the flower opens another petal. And when he leaves, it will stay with me forever, and I will be brighter, more receptive, more.