Nick

I Am. The unformed matter of the world was a god by the name of Khaos;Who twists and turns;Helen moving atop the ramparts of Troy;How could you imagine?;Who on earth could blame them?;No care or thought but for war;If I ever amount to anything it will be because you loved me, and continue to love me through these terrible years;When Columbus and his sailors came ashore, carrying swords;British machine guns, each loosening lightning bolts of lead death at 500 rounds per minute;I know what comes next ;Sadness yearned obscurely, hopelessly, for a woman whose tenderness would be a consolation for our unhappiness;For the wretched, the instant of awakening is hideous;As you see me fighting to survive, fighting to be esteemed and honored (so that my past vanishes), you will dismiss me as nothing terrific;Doth any here know me?;Life, London, this moment of June;This June, again, the trees along west Tenth Street have produced perfect little leaves;I want to see you on a long black leash;Liking that made her feel funny;There’s nothin’ no greater than the human heart;Do you wish to kiss me there?;But there are still in the Village lingering traces of posey;Horizon, no closer, ever;Eventually Geryon learned to write;You went up and touched the Caravaggio, you touched the Caravaggio, with the same finger you have in Christina’s pussy right now, the same fingers, and you touched the Caravaggio, and nothing happened, you though alarms would go off, a spray of tear gas would come down, or at the very least that the security guard would escort you from the Met, but nothing happened, except you got a hard on harder than hard, harder, way harder, than the one you have now, even with Christina’s warm, spit-slick lips wrapped firmly around your cock and her friend’s tongue tingling your ear.