04-26-2015, 01:51 AM
A Russian Song
Into the quiet taiga I go,
into a Moscow of pines and birches
and firs and spruces,
where mosquitoes the size of my hand
ride taxis and trains
through tunnels and roads
of twigs and tree-trunks and roots
to work on my skin,
where hedgehogs and bear cubs
and eagle-owls and horses
dart through the ferns, the flowers, the fog,
to have some tea,
where the sunlight always falls
through the cracks in the canvas of green
above my unwashed hair
like yesterday's medovukha
falling from your bottle's mouth,
swirling around in your glass,
tasting your two sweet lips,
washing away your thirst,
where I am free to sing
of my quiet schedule,
of my empty samovar,
of my desperate soul.
ALSO:
Into the quiet taiga I go,
into a Moscow of pines and birches
and firs and spruces,
where mosquitoes the size of my hand
ride taxis and trains
through tunnels and roads
of twigs and tree-trunks and roots
to work on my skin,
where hedgehogs and bear cubs
and eagle-owls and horses
dart through the ferns, the flowers, the fog,
to have some tea,
where the sunlight always falls
through the cracks in the canvas of green
above my unwashed hair
like yesterday's medovukha
falling from your bottle's mouth,
swirling around in your glass,
tasting your two sweet lips,
washing away your thirst,
where I am free to sing
of my quiet schedule,
of my empty samovar,
of my desperate soul.
ALSO:
(04-25-2015, 04:42 PM)just mercedes Wrote: Ariadne updatedLook on the bright side: at least you get to marry a FRIGGIN GOD.