Your body in mud pack
in line of fire...
A patch on my shirt
was growing...
Let it remain
ovarian pure. After strangulating...
Stammering quarrel
with classical fluidity...
For you
I am walking on rocks...
This kitsch
makes you hollow...
Your window
was very small...
Eggs went freezing in the sap.
Lips of moon were hot...
Roses had gone wilting
after surgery...
To catch himself
he jumped into fishpond...
Give me,
some poison to live...
Ethics of brands will find
out the anatomist...