Chapter 11 ideal

Definitely not the kind of rogue century Spoiled products, beauties in ornament, Feet in high-top shoes, fingers with castanets, It can satisfy the heart of a person like me. I put the beauties in the hospital, those porridge girls, Leave it to Gavarni, the chlorotic poet, Because I can't be in the pale rose Find the ideal flower that matches my bright red. I, whom my heart longs for, deep as the abyss, Is Lady Macbeth, daring criminal soul, The dream of Aeschylus blooms in the stormy season, or you.Great night, daughter of Michelangelo, You take your tits that fit in the mouth of a giant

Quietly stroking with a strange gesture.