I don't like perfect skin with an even tone,
Beneath a layer of powder, a hidden soul,
And an indifferent, detached gaze,
Beneath the mask of sexuality is emptiness and coldness;
Fluffy lips bloody scarlet clothed,
There's a weak clasp on the half-naked torso,
Of haggard hair a brilliant smirk,
The thick lashes of the frozen picture...
I like the lively and gentle look,
There's a patterned wrinkle at the edge of her eyes,
From warm years from your lips fire,
And there's snowy white dust on my temples....
I don't like perfect skin with an even tone,
And a white, wistful smile,
They only give you a temporary, bodily fever,
At Earth Station I write a record about love...
Leyla Yusupova.