It is not that they
are unattractive to me, because they are indeed couriers of
eroticism, and I want to mount their young bodies with the heat of
the werewolf, but I can not separate my acts of love from those of
blind, bestial lust. When I walk about the streetways at night, in
the aura of blue winston smoke
with the intensity of my pregabalin
eyes, and with the hunger for flesh and life rekindled by the matches
of transcendental inspiration, with their fluttering green flames,
and their scentful balsam tree, I can not decide whether my lust for
these prostitutes are the produce of love or rather, of loneliness.
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