Bogatell drizzle wakes up with a tingling, those with droplets that put you behind the ear. Now I know: there are other sites and drizzle. Wrinkle sea rocks and sand roads uncomb false leading to a curved slide, of which I like, or those linked to climb ropes that give me so dizzy. I spend tongue over his lips and drink salt. Shook up the jacket to mom, but I did not speak. She looked at me. Crouch, kiss me. She looks at me with their marbled eyes, his eyelids tremble to the rhythm of the waves raging. The sharp wind moves her curls and I see even more beautiful. Insists wind up the scarf that covers me elephants mouth, and I subject to not escape me. But the wind starts me in the neck. And mom also wears it. I stretch my little arms, I strive to mourn, but I just drizzle falling from the eyes. I get up the lapels of his jacket and run to a taxi. I think I'll spacing these visits. Every time I find it harder to remove the salt from these lips, moisture behind the ears.
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