Marriage is a coffee house
The “flavor of the week” –
Always a mystery.
I have searched for bright stars on the sky dusted
By street light’s reflected shards --
They are rare, like love and integrity.
Stood in the backyard in a flimsy nightgown
Breasts wantonly swept by the fall breeze.
Within each of my cells – an echo of the Black, Crimean sea
It’s salty waves, the banks sloping up spell “freedom”.
Am I a seed about to sprout? Or a red kizil berry
To be crushed to satisfy your mild thirst?