Читать книгу Time and love. The novel in verse - George Pospelow - Страница 29

Your body

is a snowdrop in the tropics,

only red roses

reminded us about India

on the outside.

Their petals weren’t able

to compare with your skin,

so down them from the bed.

A northern eye rejoiced

at white

on white color

without common

at Indian weddings

tracery, aromatizing, ornamentation.

For you,

this stuff was superfluous,

indeed.

Can you improve the sea?

For a long time

I’d been waiting for the moment,

while for a few more minutes

I admired the past-future

taking you out of the foam.

Never knew

I could hold a sea,

thrilled with delight,

oh, yes, in my hands.

Breasts-hips-waves

toppled me over

and caressed

burning with inner coolness.

The fanfare exaltation of the body,

inaccessibly near before,

of the glamorous maidenly figure

sunny naked and unadorned!

Never knew

I could embrace

the braids of the Sun,

trembling and passing me

the fire agitation

of the strained to the limit passion.

The unachievable celestial being

came down, converted into

a terrestrial splendor,

and only arms and legs

still air flows,

spicy predicted:

a storm would become.

Never knew

I could whirl weightlessly

here on the happiness shore

like in starry space.

To conclude,

the storm began.

Once we had become one,

the black horse shot up,

blended the elements,

and dashed off

straight to the center of paradise.

Where was it?

What was the name of the Deity

to whose feet

the black horse dropped us,

still hugging, still kissing

but more and more

losing our strength and ardor.

The presence of a third person

didn’t disturb us long.

In no time

we concealed in each other,

forgot about him,

listening to the performed in our honor

music of the center of the Universe.