Swept up, swept up the ice.
Either I believe it or I don't believe it.
Cheeks would redden hurting, I samuilo
The more timid the first chill.
And snowflake, straying from the pack.,
On your hot lips melted
Taste of the winter sky, rich
This strange sweet cotton.
We enter the evening guests uninvited,
We warm our hands with large pockets.
And we go, scarves tied,
The alley with the sleeping elms.
I kiss you, emboldened:
Sweet as jam with cherries…
You're laughing, shaming the whole street:
"Do they kiss in the cold?»