Two...

There are two phrases scribbled on the cardboard,
Which are hand-written,
Which are drenched with tears.
He was a porcupine and was a wolf as gabbled.
He was clear-minded, but generally tipsed.

Two bullets are the bet. From asphyxiation   
Resolves the hotness of her oriental eyes.
He is the bet. Bound by the fear's sensation,
Avoids ambivalence in phrases of all kinds.
Knock-knock - he's croaked, and someone kicked the bucket.
- "I want to hug you", "Love you and adore".
Inside the mouth a frosted number flattered.
- "I hate you, dear", "I want to love once more".

Pre-dying stage. Sigh. Dusk of fascinations.
A thingness.
Time
  Has long ago surpassed...
But full of warmth and manic invitation
The bawdy dance of nudeness of the lass.
She's in the blaze of smoky sooting ringlets;
His silver frame entwined around with pitch.
Out of the depths of hardly ringing spirit
A childish fluff of poplar floats in reach.

Forswear yourself. No reason for self-pity!
Like octopus convolve and twirl the pit.
She isn't there - her table's resting empty.
Forswear yourself, and phrases will unfit...

06.07.14 (self-translated from Russian)