Clean lines, white walls, green tables for ping-pong, machine precision, love of less and faultless geometry - the interior recalls the Lenin’s Worker’s Club of Alexandr Rodchenko, designed a century…
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*** I suddenly thought what I was there for was to see the best of all possible worlds - your hands, for not playing safe, for staying true to myself,…
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*** It’s just a small, shadow-casting hand that keeps playing Chopin. It’s just a small hand floating in a blissful sea of white bed linen, I feel like an art…
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*** Outlined in pencil, your hands are dancing beyond the margins of my paper. Lost somewhat in reproduction, I am puzzled, not only because of the reduction in size but…
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*** We were alone in all that blackness of the night, dry lips triumphantly were trying to zigzag something that they call 'love', it felt like we were on a…
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*** Saw almost no-one this weekend, which kept my mind clean, the more I leave people out, the closer to something I am. I looked attentively at the sky, at…
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*** You are as exciting as the painting - rich in hues, something painful and beautiful, and what is not understood is happily not understood… Your eyes the most burning…
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*** Invariably hungry for you. I smile silently week after week mocked by the memories of how you walk towards my face, dozens of fresh waves pass quickly across my…
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*** I wanted it to be spring, I wanted to rub you and lie by you till you just sailed gently off to sleep, I wanted to see you when…
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*** My ice sheets are melting, once strong, now fragile like cotton, when the open-water vessels - your mountain blue eyes - do navigate my Volga. Diving up here is…
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