Time and love. The novel in verse. George Pospelow

Чтение книги онлайн.

      The talk with you

      on close terms

      is about time and love —

      the two mighty

      of our elderly world,

      gorgeous and so sick.

      We’ll fly along, across,

      around it, discover much:

      hundreds of exotic scenes —

      drama and comedy sparks.

      Time to take off. Enjoy!

      The gross

      is the rapid

      life

      winnings.

      The net

      is

      love,

      nearly

      minutes.

      Sweet secrets,

      reservations,

      hugs,

      kisses,

      ecstasies of meeting,

      pains of parting,

      the talk of hearts,

      the junction of views,

      the initiation into love.

      Still far away from

      the twine of destinies.

      A swing is flying and flying,

      weaving November and April

      in whether a minute or a year.

      The two are working for a flight,

      flittering aimlessly at random,

      merry at the height.

      Below is a roundabout,

      the banks – now here, now there,

      people – now thin, now stout.

      In the air-bed – up and down —

      the attractive eyes are creating

      love – up and down.

      The palms are in force.

      The wedded legs enjoy

      being not privy to the Earth.

      Floating on one of the world

      parallels, the two have said

      everything without words.

      A breeze – blues – buzz

      came flying,

      made me dizzy,

      evoked the reminiscence

      of my lover.

      How does it know

      her?

      With you,

      the sky is higher,

      the sea is immense,

      this field

      is beyond all measure.

      Extending the boundaries

      of reality,

      you started whistling

      and distorted a popular song.

      Highly likely —

      no good ear.

      Now,

      you better warm me —

      it got cold

      in a boundless space.

      Hopefully,

      it would be well again.

      Interrupted by kind laughter,

      your pliant timbre voice —

      as blue as your eyes and the sea —

      is mixing with our coffee aroma

      to the tune of an Italian mandolin,

      and penetrating straight into my blood.

      An anxious breeze smelling

      like weed has sprung up.

      Out of jealousy, it tries

      to overpower your voice,

      to lead it away.

      We must talk loudly.

      Since we’re alone, we’re

      all right, but drops of iodine

      in coffee cups are there.

      The draw is fifty-fifty.

      I enjoy your discourse —

      dear and loved one —

      it drives me to distraction.

      However, I lose the subject,

      and you as if hurt

      clench your fists playfully.

      I love you.

      A nudist beach in one-time

      “Portuguese” Goa. A café by the ocean.

      We order lobsters, glasses of fenny1

      for inspiration. What a thing to happen!

      Shrink-wrapped amenities exit

      into memory for drying. Museums, statues,

      cathedrals, cannons, buildings – no need

      to travel to Lisbon. We are talking love.

      Fresh air is saturated with bliss.

      Naked Robert Browning and Elizabeth2—

      his СКАЧАТЬ