Читать книгу Time and love. The novel in verse - George Pospelow - Страница 11

Interrupted by kind laughter,

your pliant timbre voice —

as blue as your eyes and the sea —

is mixing with our coffee aroma

to the tune of an Italian mandolin,

and penetrating straight into my blood.

An anxious breeze smelling

like weed has sprung up.

Out of jealousy, it tries

to overpower your voice,

to lead it away.

We must talk loudly.

Since we’re alone, we’re

all right, but drops of iodine

in coffee cups are there.

The draw is fifty-fifty.

I enjoy your discourse —

dear and loved one —

it drives me to distraction.

However, I lose the subject,

and you as if hurt

clench your fists playfully.

I love you.