Image

The envelope's blue fold

like a catharsis of us

entrapped like a canopy,

or a memory.

The rusty smell of Vodka

The lying knocks,

Hush, this moment

a fragment of the moon.

I sink into your lips

and memorize your words—

Propitiating, proliferating

your eyes resemble best with

my heart. Maundering tiny tales.
©MVS