Misha Campfires
I have all the same the second sense, for you
thoughts running, black tea, elixir-brandy.
phone memos, scraps of yesterday's thoughts:
You pushed my hand, saying, in a bend of the lips:. "maniac"
you have centimeters stocking over snakeskin,
under my hand my hair bristles.
I want you off, forgetting that we are similar.
drinking half a liter, thrown under the city in the night.
me in the morning to find a spring, shivering, shop.
I will sober, though still alive - lucky the yard spring
.
I was on the back of a knife cut out the mistakes:
two plus two does not equal? not the same - it's you plus me.