Michelangelo, Stop
About This Novel
A glass of vodka was poured on the flames of war in distant Rome, burning out the dirt and the holiness. I watched you dance in the Circus, that sacred dance of death. How I want to join your dance, Burn an everlasting love with your soul. If I could do it again, I would remember that moment, Remember every trace of your dust-blown blond hair passing through the history mark, and those warm little hands holding you. The fire should be hot, hot, and hot...!
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