Wings
At night,
When solitary crickets
Sing me canticles,
To sleep,
I wish we wert
Twin wings concerted,
Turning midair,
To the East...
The firm ligament of virtue
Would be our love's garantor
Stout as Kremlin's towers - fervor!
Our tears would be the feathers.
Thou art both ambrosia and hemlock,
And yet nothing in between,
Thou art sanity and madness,
A straitjacket closing thin.
Still i'm lying in the open.
Mindfully eyeing the stars,
Dissimilar to what we could be,
Splenetic still, 'bout what we are.