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Cherry

The least I want to eat, I want to part less with you. Red cherry and white dough stretches my tape of happiness. Nails of your gear and, it seems, I understand - I don’t want anything else, we will get past paradise.

Your hands are smeared with scars-dramas, my back is covered with mowles-shawls. We warmed each other with our hands in our pockets. Nails of your gear and, it seems, I understand - I don’t want anything else, we will get past paradise.

Any shit flows tons to us. We were hiding under the coat and behind the plates. (And yet, at least somehow, but we were good.) Nails of our gnaw and, it seems, I understand-I don’t want anything else, we will get past paradise.

This toned cargo makes us say: “I'm empty,” but among hundreds of thousands of lips only yours say: “You are fucking! Well, let".