Let you write me poems that are warm,
Let you read them warmly on the phone,
Let there be no trembling in your voice,
Let it gives me just the waves of moans.
How you washed me on the New year's eve,
How you put her on a trestle bed settee,
And maybe then Betsy will forgive
those ones with whom you were offending.
I will hear you in day's sphere realm,
In the realm of blue and tender quietness,
After the phone call we both will
Drown together in the blissful vastness.
I'll be treating you with a sweet cake,
put into your mouth a piece of cream,
and console the widow so gentle,
withdraw her from day's captivity.
Poems on the phone
© Copyright: Елизавета Судьина, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120020506503
Свидетельство о публикации №120020506503
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