The moon’s waxing in taurus
the smell of alcohol rises.
through naked bodies of ours
the guts’s craving for crisis.
the word approaches the mouth -
you never know how it sounds.
those empty places and hours.
this empty house of ours.
the town is conquered by wheels.
like thrombosis it feels.
the soul’s led into dust.
a «should» sounds like a «must».
they go even if not,
i shake although its hot.
and soon’s never enough
for her waiting for love.
Ôåâðàëü 2020