Al Quotion. The Part Of Improvisation (№ 157332)

My soul, soul In whom I find you, if you own the chest, I feel only emptiness, black and scarlet, painful silence, perversely turning the clouds in his eyes, greedily absorbing the groans of the world. Scorched steppe, the glow of distant fires, erased with white temple the sweat, the blood, the passion of a kiss and a long wind in the hair on the edge of the world, step away from the abyss. Or it is you, my soul?