Читать книгу Time and love. The novel in verse - George Pospelow - Страница 30

The reward of the eyes,

delight of the heart,

we are together,

as in the past.

End storytelling,

no more, Sheherazáde!22

Excited, you

go on and on.

Fragrant hair.

Charming figure.

Are you here?

No photo. You are.

Your only gaze

subdues my anguish.

It makes me not crazy

as before.

The spell of gestures,

brisk tirades

uplift me whirling

to the novelty of honey.

Encircle with yourself!

Make glow with bliss!

Fit-out captivating,

long-awaited pains.

Toy trolls

of our daughter

add plenty

of magnetism to you,

energy to me,

pour love-potion

into our bodies,

and return to their shelf.

Wishful, caring

are your hugs —

slanting shoulders’

precipitous brinks.

Falling into a stream,

crying, I invoke,

“I love, and you

saved our love!”

What a fever —

the edge of waiting.

How bright

are your appealing eyes.

Speeding up,

we go with the current:

an impetuous torrent,

a cherished stream.

The beat of love —

a millennia instinct —

rejects the laws

of civilizations.

The bodies-beasts

interlace into one

in a fiery game

of improvisations.

A folly and a glee,

mixed in a flash,

a vortex of infinite

imperious longings,

the exultation of oneness,

tempest of senses

with the lightning of glances

and thunders of triumph,

a moment of joy,

a fantasy of waking

dream, an ecstasy

of wild orgies!

The millennia of love

will experience again

that peculiar taste,

sweet and poignant!