Polina’s hands are like forgotten song under a hard needle.
Sounds are lazy and whirl like the dust specks under her head.
Sleepy eyes are waiting for one that will come in and light them.
Polina’s morning continues for one hundred milliards years.
And all these years I hear the swaying of her breast,
And her breath steaming up the glass.
And I’m not regret that my way is so eternal.
Her crystal bedroom is always light.
I know those who will succeed in waiting and those who will die before this.
But the both of them are equally boring to accompany.
I love you for your expectation that waits
For what will never happen.
Polina’s fingers are like candles in the night chandelier,
Polina’s tears have turned to eternal brook,
The sunrise hesitates at the Polina’s doorway,
Polina’s morning continues for one hundred milliards years.
And all these years I hear the swaying of her breast,
And her breath steaming up the glass.
And I’m not regret that my way is so eternal.
Her crystal bedroom is always, always light.