__A long time ago from the last thread of time, in my mind's imagination, Tuesdays were the warm days of seeding my fortune... The most wearable boots that my mother's feminine had put in my heart. The female goddess whose root in the womb is more barren than the fat under my skin...
__Since it was born a long time before me... a semen that is borne fruit The dead praise her more and the living call her the old tamer and self-effacing.
The days of moaning of a semen that comes on the coldth of the earth with a little push moved from the most odd number in the world that hits even to imaginary weekends. In the exorbitant crowd of the most stupid people someone is born,
in silence.
In the same silence that originates from her sexual intercourse. People who breathe slowly, their relaxation becomes eternal on something... Silence is like the Virgin truth that no one counts...
