Another Tumbler Of Wine. By Anna Polibina-Polansky Poem by Anna Polibina-Polansky

That sparkling flamenco confessed by Machado. We stand 'hind the linden, the maples. We chatter. So lilac and cherry are yet at their blossom. 'Ma pure verdad', we encount our losses. My peers are jealous of me. Thoughts are scattered. Apotheosis for our love, is ahead yet. We miss our felicity, bliss, rare chances. We hardly exchange rigid sighs, weightless glances. Your kisses expand with this June. Sultry, rainy, The weather is haughty, one we are enframed at. You sip me when smacking. It is all the same, still. I am so, apprenticed and fed with the tamed will. My marvel, you teach me new shades of sensations. I bear you stigmas and hard accusations. I'm equal to your lurking fears of being. You are so sincere at your modes of seing. You wrap me at your shawl of layers of patterns. So few of events may yet linger and matter. I sip my long wine, from the neat things around. So I scarcely touch the impeccable ground. We share one umbrella, at passions elated. Such instants are stark and bizzare, long-awaited... Memorable partners, away, are all melting. We share a shower, a shed and a shelter. No envy, no rivalry, no offense meant. We've found our ultimate, crucial essence. Your skin is so moisty, of odors unusual. Mature is acrid, is my sharp illusion.2022, the Shabolovka Strand.