reorganise me till complete complain
stop mourning over time
while saying devil’s name is perfect to commence a bright discussion
claim my waiver until the end of everything
of personification
grab ideas running wild through poetry in boots of extra large
glance memorising someone else with eyes of no conformity and playing character
god buys in tropical embraces
some decorations gone in vain no less so temporarily in place
to note conclusion in her kiss under her open waves of eyebrows
recall between the sense and matrimony
lock of condition lack of luck and look of light lit misery of love

Олег Малахов

The 400 Blows 12