To shine like copper kettle in the center
of table laden with old silver cups...
Roses in crystal. And the toast's in spectrum.
And napkins solid and starch as a lump.
as snails they extraordinary lie.
and energy of garnet bracelet burns!
under the table - in the Persian... boudoir -
the heels will sink, where once a 'secret' was.
Mad mentors of the drunken binges,
and the conductors of sweet-honey islands...
the Alpine meadows and their steaming
milk so admired by the clouds...
And Waltzes on the floors as slippery wind
All race so long as you go on to live,
with the short steps of centimeters of silk,
reaching the bottom of the castle Eve.
And something hides behind this - by soft force,
by the angelic motion of the passions -
when a small stream is coming through so quiet
pretending that he is a snakes no more...
Among the narrow gorges of willows burdens
where fresh drafts walk along my back
and the decollete, - I hear the word pagodas
of quietest souls who at the moon depart.
stretch out a hand! I am waiting for a kiss,
higher than small elbow, where a lace
end of the glove with Hallelujah thrills,
but in a lilac bout don't go away...
You have abandoned, outcast my soul
into the gaping pit, where coals of ages
shifted at once to spectrum of the surf
of diamond mines of words and interjections!