Adam Martinakis It must be love ...



You are reflected in me by something invisible, semi-invisible,
Underscored, semi-real and unsaid.
There, upstairs, it's so nice to watch the wind by the wing,
Wrapped in a scarf, from your thoughts connected.
Up there, he dreams of being simple and lighter,
Somewhere below scurry from passers-by dotted dots.
And you, reflecting in me, dissolve even the hints of the faded,
And I'm making you out of myself with rhyme, by the way, by string.
And the city of neon is wrapped in a plush cloud of vanilla thought,
And they will bind the names tightly and tightly with free bird packs.
And you and I are still so strong in this world,
Once we allow each other to meet only "April-Mai" ...
But, apparently, this is correct, it should be so, otherwise, the soul would,
Unable to withstand a surge of emotions, exploded into fragments of atoms.
In a cocktail of our madness, I only remember my lips,
And there, high above the ground for some reason - the smell of incense ...







Vladimir Breakfast on the Grass



Paul Cezanne In the Woods

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