Night, obsessive whiteness…

Night, obsessive whiteness
skin. From vetrenoy rezedы,
stavenь carapaющeй, carved to,
finely quivering stars,
night, trembling in every fiber
like an insect, cling, black,
the lamp, whose bulge hot,
although totally disabled.
Sleep. In the twenty-five candles,
mining carotid rubbish,
has managed not to lose rays,
broke it on your features,
you dim the lights inside,
while, lips fell for shoulder,
I, accurately reading the book at
you, til composition by whisper.


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Joseph Brodsky
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