Minimal 3 Poem by Aneta Popova

In night the moon is blue
always for the animal hearts
pasted on the velvet sky
the mute cradle
with nostalgic smile
I have mine
you have yours
we cuddle with the falling stars
sometimes we mix them in C-4 cocktail
we get drunk
so what
you evaporate faster than the steam of your guts
and that ballooned soul of yours
so I love my throat ache
it makes less trouble than your infantile loving
maybe I'm just as same
but I know
love is spring pure and
simple like water
when the moon moans
and you cleave as fetus by my side.
My throat still aches
just so you know.
Tomorrow is a big day.