That day you’ve entered my solitude
with your predisposition to transgress
I was trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle
of the “The Bridal Pair With the Eiffel Tower”
between some scattered urges to repent.
You asked me for a glass of wine
and to be romantic as you remembered me.
I told you to get the butter…
(afterwards I was with you)
on top of that unfinished puzzle
on top of that dusty floor
on top of those broken memories,
between some scattered urges
The buzzing neon lights
are restricting my mobility.
I’m subdued to fuzzy darkness
of your modal jazzy riffs
Turn me inside out, babe!
now turn me back.
Turn me one more time!
are untangled rails,
yours are abstractive streets
(east to west, up and down)
Your eyes are windows to my soul, —
mine are headlights on the taxi,
rushing through the vigor of an avenue.
The helicopter landing near Brooklyn bridge,
barely touching the landing pad
with its skids, —
skin to skin…
No! an air to an air
a tantric experience;
a Kundalini awakening.
(a gentle chiming)
an air to an air!
more,– till the ferry will blow its horn.
and a wild brass of a baritone saxophone
will suck you into the sensual vortex.
Buzzing neon lights.
Buzzing neon nights.
Turn me inside out, babe…
I tripped over some silly cliches,
carelessly left on the parquet;
missed your lips and fell
on the floor.
I guess I forgot
how to do it right.
and the smell of wine…
a doll’d plastic wan, bleary retina
with the joy tattooed inside,
wide open eyes.
“stop seeing red”, you said.
you can’t always unsee
a disposable truth of the satin kevlar
on her breasts afterwards.
while the auto pilot of the self-indulgence
is messing the air traffic up.
and there were stars, – brass pins
pierced into the greasy velvet of the night.
a monotonic highway lullaby
a midnight breeze whispering behind
the hanging valance.
her breath below my waterline
and rustling demons of the night
under the squeaking bed.
and my fretful empiricism
insatiable for more delight.