***
I will read out loud
to you,
the sound of the Slavic vowels
would drive you closer,
you’d let my book slip
from my fingers
and fall down
onto the marble,
the candlelight
would tremble for a second,
then,
would sharpen
the evening’s calm,
when no one
would expect us
getting farther and farther away
into our alphabet chaos,
like the two rivers
before thrusting out
into the open ocean.
A strange peace
would fall over the room,
from deep within the bed,
we’d see the sundawn,
you’d say: “Time to observe the tide!”.
I’d answer “Let’s lie…”.
The blanket would
swallow the verbs –
the morning when golden dawn
is less important
than the golden warmth
of lips
typewriting,
kiss after kiss,
over each others’ skin
a new poem.
Then, they’ll see the ocean. Maybe.
