
At a body feast.
Lubomír Tomik
all musicians
threw into the abyss,
all wrinkles
hugged the squirrel,
SHE
the palm slid behind the pleats of the skirt,
cold and distant temptation,
at body feast.
At a body feast.
Lubomír Tomik
all musicians
threw into the abyss,
all wrinkles
hugged the squirrel,
SHE
the palm slid behind the pleats of the skirt,
cold and distant temptation,
at body feast.