Al Quotion. The Part Of Improvisation (№ 153719)

Do not make the limits of understanding. Here thy words, fast ants are running in the belly of the monitor, slip on my eyes, drowning in failure of the pupil, but this is not the limit. Here your voice, colouring, child, colorful hues of emotions flowing in me, echoing on the membrane of the senses, but this is not the limit. Here's a look at yours, to support, to stubbornness, stupid screaming outside your heart flutter under my hand, but this is not the limit.
Do not make the proximity limit. Here your skin, elastic veil of heat, wet invitation to a kiss, and I draw on her fingers the words of the spell, but this is not the limit. That's your passion, burning inside, burning inside the soul, instinctively shrinking from the light, but this is not the limit. Here thy breath, the salty thirst, penetrating into my lungs in divorce sharpened love, but this is not the limit.
Don't limit life. That's spring in the blood dancing in his madness, falling into the sky, tearing apart clouds of thoughts on the scarlet strip of sunset, but this is not the limit. Here the sea rushes into your chest, takeoff from a cliff, stun desire to be, scatters the spray of happiness in density of laughter, soft flowing on a naked body, but this is not the limit. That's life, knocking down, prisivashya to the shoulders ridiculous wings, yours, only yours, infinitely deep, painfully bright, rising wind and falling cherry flowers in outstretched hands, but this is not the limit.. And smashed in the hands of the petals, do not make the limit of death.