sandy Bashny.Net

< Vladimir Maslov
Mukachevo



Random ringing tram will wake us,
when dawn More incredibly gentle,
in touch two lines of our destinies
and the warmth of the embrace - serene.
How do you tell me at the mercy of,
Now this unspent bliss,
Would she slipped star
to me in the palm itself from the night sky?

And her lips all certainly remember,
they have their own
pave the way on bends, in secluded places
Impatiens desperate yesterday.

What to tell the thin skin of the fingers,
sliding on the verge between the sensual and
memories that disturb
again and so unconsciously we are brought together eyelids? ..

Dawn oozes through the curtain,
on the dial stood out arrows,
and it has become a visible and compelling,
as a bunch of grapes on a plate.

Gad morning tea leaves,
looking forward and looking at the memory.
What we have foretold it in the future?
By what card lies between us?