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■ The oak
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What has remained behind you?
I red you so much, that from you, still breathe today, just a line, just an instant. Only so much can make your hand? Can you ever call back the dreams as we never been left? Today there is a general requirement of literature. It remains the bites on the shoulder and over the hurt, the burnt soul and full of clinker, hung alone on the clavier. Today I need silence, to feel how it’s running from inside me the last bit of paradise. Once upon a time, when the words clothed different and smelt like musk and deal. Once upon a time. Do you ever remember?
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