Does Hydrocortisone Reduce Cell Damage

ZURICH

... continued from LORENZO.

This room has walls of the Emerald. They fade from the ceiling in a mesmerizing midnight blue, deep as the abyss where we met and lost.

This room where I'm waiting for is perfectly square. In this room, time and space do not exist. Disregard and transcend all temporal and spatial context.

This room is a hole quantum: a vertiginous abyss in which human corruptibility allowed to merge and mix.

raining in this room.

Raining billion as torrential drops sparkling diamonds. It rains on my skin and my icy features deprived of pre-established identity, which in its denial and exfoliation, research purity of essence. Pure and crystalline water raining on this voracious and exhausting but not exhaustive search, and floods of new substance its implications and complications.

raining incessantly in this room while I'm waiting for emerald. Outside is a hazy night, which to me, with sharp edges and golden bridles, is taking you. It's raining outside the scarlet labyrinthine corridors of this hotel in downtown Zurich. Zurich is surrounded by a night sensually caressed by a warm wind that awakens and arouses oblivious apnea. It rains copiously in this room, while on earth, on the floor ivory remains a residual pool of that water falls from the ceiling and reclaimed irreverent. It rains on those satin sheets that seem to absorb the time in their lucidity.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I'm waiting for you. With bare feet and up to their ankles in water that is reminiscent of the monsoon Caribbean see myself reflected in a mirror with the black makeup around the eyes leaking on my face. I bring a trace of scarlet lipstick on a glass ending that string as a single evanescent residue of lucidity in my right hand. Absinthe content.

The water seems to join and to dwell only on me. Floor separately. My dress, now, is a black cloth of silk and sequins sberluccicanti tinted who has lost all of its morphology on me to join. I too am dissolving in waiting. The ink under my skin begins to come alive and moving: I see animated drawings extend and wrap as mellifluous mellow tangle. They are children of the night covered with arabesques that sway and expand as a belly dancer. I see in that mirror narcissus refraction of a hand in the tribal circumnavigate the sensual creeps up my neck to my mouth and my nose.

anoxic his touch.

raining in this room.

drops as large as cherry stones crashing on me. I hear adhere to my head shaved at the center of a single strand of hair check so long, raven and perfectly smooth, to touch the floor. A lock thick and dense, the thickness of a bouquet of roses.

rains in refraction surrounded by the snow-white rococo frame.

raining in my wretched humanity as a warning that he is here waiting for you on your own is coming to me and on the testimony of all that we have been, are and will be. It rains in an attempt to wash away their mutual guilt.

dancers raining stars on my skin now pose and iridescent, tactile and olfactory substance I dress up.

unconscious now.

Assuming that they have ever had.

In your imminent I am in you I surrender.

dissolving at the touch of your knuckles on the door.

... more.