Instead of the prayer, you said:
- I'll think about that tomorrow,
with a make up of lampblack, like a Scarlet O'Hara,
your copied figure...
Long have you floated like a castaway toward the shores of the morning.
sometimes the silence can frighten the Giant,
when it makes a sound...
You pushed through another night all by yourself,
Chekhov has fallen asleep like a child,
He doesn't even know that the darkness had orgies
under the window...
Wind practiced on his cello,
His wistful lines without end,
The dawn carefully touched your forehead,
Somewhere in you the ice was on fire...
Princess, get in touch,
I still have that pocket where cold fingers can get warm...
Send a message,
so that I can see those writings on the screen...
I miss that all,
I still keep in my pillow the mold of your neck...
Princess, it's enough,
two and a half years we're hostages of the malice...
What's wrong with you?
Tide of the banality splashes your world
like the Atlantis,
and while the cinematographer is smirking, you miss somebody
to make a gag...
To write you a sonnet
on the neighbor's wall,
and with a pack of Gypsies under your window pave the snow...
On the coaster I still draw your profile,
and I avoid redundant questions with a trick,
I write your name into the every stanza
with invisible tint...
Under my Christmas tree until the spring a present for you stands,
only for you intended,
forever there is a fossil of your waist
on my palm petrified...
Princess, get in touch,
Some victories are won by the force...
Don't be stubborn,
I admit you have a talent for making a fuss..
It gets dangerous,
Spider web envelops major accords...
Princess, it's enough,
Two and a half years we're hostages of the malice...
Princess, it's enough...