MIDDLE OF THE HEART AND ARROW
nor the love of a glance, something amid
breath and lip, between the heart
and pulsation, somewhere
middle of conscious
and delirium,
inkling
of your impaction, on the surface of chest -
wasn't dream, in fact, a real feeling
which has filled the life with
exclusive fragrance,
that wasn't the
intoxication
of first
premature inebriation of your oceanic eyes,
or probably sweet paranoia, god
knows, what was that, in a
blink the life became
upheaval, I could
think of
something, that the arrow was across the
heart, did not scream; didn't even
know, and sweet pain
emerged in the
midnight - -
