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You were the whisper – not a mouth,
My slice of brown bread in Rome,
A piece of unexamined something,
Embracing me inside my word storm…
You were a lip sign – not a voice foam,
You were my ”Вы ”, my grace, my hat off,
You were my staircase to tiptoe,
You were my weird choice of verbs,
My almost total lack of nouns and rhymes,
My incorrect stresses,
My crystal foreignness and probably
My Eastern echoes,
My plot and my denouement,
My only dress over a cold bed,
My day-time moth,
You were my mouth –
not a sound.