To L. Ya.
Adieu! I no more desire
To be your page, your servant and your boy,
And I, indeed, won’t e’en try to aspire
To bring you pleasure for your sinful joy.
I let you go, o Muse; I burn our bonds.
Fly! Fly away and soar…
But you should know: of you I was so fond!
My heart bleeds in the pink smoke of your flight.
July, 2011