This blouse of fuchsia color
makes in me a percussion,
on this color my Heart is beating,
At the problems with Mobis I'm spitting.
I love him for complacence,
indifference to the world,
he kicks banks into the space,
he is lazy at early morn.
when he is reading poetry -
on my head I feel warm beams,
and as a hand goes -
so are the words of yours.