Bad Psoriasis Behind Ear

ecstasy


head held high, with a smile on her lips, she entered the room.
walked slowly and gracefully above them, slowly one foot putting next to the other.
Her long, curly hair that reaches to her shoulders, caressed her Madonna-like face, wave the same.
Her eyelids quivered slightly, they smelled a faint odor of musk, but only partially, only very slightly.
your chin slightly raised, the deep red lips pursed, her eyes innocent, yet knowing. Knowing and naive at the same time.
She seemed calm and relaxed. Only the close observers of the quiet waves of her breasts could see that this calmness was only playing.
She was excited, almost aroused if the wonderful minutes, which now lay before her.
Purposeful and determined, she went to the couch in the corner of the room, her step springy and light, like a gazelle. A slight sigh escaped her alabaster breast, as she gracefully sat down on the brocade sofa. Your delicate hand passed a lock of hair from his forehead.
She relaxed, crossed her long, slender legs, leaned back and closed his eyes.
feel you could, as he approached her.
She was one of those women who have the ability to guess things are not, had lost.
in just the moment when she slowly opened her velvety eyes, he sat down before her. He, the stranger. Their eyes met each other. But only briefly.
Madame seemed to tell his brown eyes, nothing more. She sighed inaudibly. What a man, an Adonis, tall, with distinctive facial features, dark, mysterious. His hands formed wonderful. Already they compassed their soft delicate Chains.
She closed her eyes and sighed. A moment later she felt the pressure was fixed. Then again, softer, and then it was all gone.
She was frightened.
How gladly would they now open their eyes, out of curiosity, what he might do next. She changed her mind, wanted to enjoy the moment, enjoy.
Then he was there. She had known it. It felt. Firm, decisive. Suddenly - a slight pain shot through her. That could not be, no, that must not be. Startled she looked up.
He felt their pain and responded. He let go of her.
No, she thought, no, it should not end so, so not yet. She gasped, trembled, her heart trembled. On her neck, she felt the coolness of thousands of small beads of sweat that had formed.
But now he was back. With her.
Yes, yes, that is wonderful. What joy, what bliss.
She looked at him, joyful, ecstatic. She was in ecstasy. He smiled.
As he rose, he sighed.
Content, Madame? his sonorous voice was full of expectation.

Yes, the fit she said. size 38 always fits.
This goat leather, wonderful.
And since the flip-flops on the shelf, the red, I'll take it.
And give me a care products.

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beauty is in the eye of the beholder


I sit in the station restaurant. My train leaves in thirty minutes.

I order a coffee and look around. Only a few tables are occupied.
Next to me is a fat woman.
Unbelievable.
I rub my eyes.
A huge breasts is truth in it. A monster breasts.
This is the biggest breasts I have ever seen in my life.
I Never fixed on female breasts, but now I can not help it. Because it also takes just this particular shirt. Particularly in the case is an exceedingly polite informal term.
The T-shirt is Je suis le King of Pop.
Okay, I tell myself it is a Michael Jackson fan and I forgive her this, you probably can not French.
The new King of Pop is sitting next to a very overweight woman whose hair is cut very short. The two talk nothing but shoveling chocolate cake with whipped cream to himself.

At another table sits a little boy with thick, red cheeks, upper arms and a fat blonde.
His father, the very image of his son's stuffed, it Bundt cake into his mouth. When I look up

, another overweight woman comes into the restaurant. She is sweaty and totally out of Breath.
What on earth is going on today? Why is everyone so fat? Must be
globalization.
The woman is obviously American. I recognize their special sneakers, the likes of us would just take the high mountains to climb. She wears a plaid shirt, rolled up the sleeves and a short, beige pants with huge pockets. Protrudes from a pocket a half-full bottle of Coke. And she has
-suspenders! The first braces wearer, I see!
braces, I only know of nice old grandpa with Schnürlsamthosen to chop wood and constantly aufschlichten. My father also has braces - for its leather.
Incredibly, this sight. Red braces, which are covered on each side of her breasts.
While she walks past me, she looks at me disapprovingly.
What? May I not look at you? May I not sit here and drink my coffee? No, because of you I do not look so horrified. I look always so.

A twenty year old coming out of the toilet.
on her pink T-shirt reads: I am pretty . The whole T-shirt full of pretty, pretty, pretty . In all colors and fonts.
The problem - it is not pretty. It has twenty pounds too much. The T-shirt is too tight and too short, the belly swells out of his pants. Hips to be unloaded, blond hair to black, specking too coarse to face and skin. I'm short
distracted and think.
What message would be on my T-shirt? I have no idea.

I look at my clock. Time to go. I pay and leave the restaurant.
On leaving, I saw him.
the appropriate sentence. For
's T-shirt. I apologize for staring at you.

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Feel Small Bump On My Cervix

galactic



* * *

Pater noster
Papa? Qui
it in Caelis
I love the sun, the moon and the stars
Sanctificetur nomen tuum
I am amazed by your secrets
Adveniat regnum tuum
I sense something new Fiat voluntas tua

I'm concerned, it can finally come in
Sicut coelo et in terra
I dream of heaven on earth
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie
of unfulfilled promises
Et dimitte nobis debita nostra
galactic From this Sicut et nos distant moment
dimittimus debitoribus nostris
If we, despite our guilt
Et ne nos in tentation inducas
In the eyes
Sed libera nos a malo
And feel love

* * *

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words do not come easy


throwing Why do the words so easily in front of you, without regard to its meaning?
stir Why are wild and reckless in them around as if you had a bucket of paint before you? Why are you firing the
from one word to the other and it beschmierst with call sign?
words - bold, bright, brash.
words like gunshots. No depth, only crumbs of nothingness. No melody, just squeaking intrusiveness.
words like snippets, thrown up and covered with pronouns and adjectives.
Let the fuss about style, spelling and literary claim.
words need a place where they can find each other. Only way to create stories.
go to this place and discover the words.
Look at it, let them use it honestly and sound - to and with feeling. Thank you.

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