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■ Les saisons
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My fingers, easily undress
the black keys of my keyboard, breasts of my computer. They tickle and turn white, feeling ashamed of this forbidden love. My fingers touch the screen, this mouth, of lips so colorful, and trembling movements. It goes stand by and then turns on, having as background, words of heart. I hold hands with the mouse, walking on my desk, and then it goes wireless, so we take countless steps. I go inside the computer tower, underneath these clothes, and connect to a virus-free download without warnings and pop-ups .
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