кусать твой шершавый язык,
когда щетина колет кожу.
если глаза слиплись,
спрячу голову в подмышку.
скрепил мои ноги между своими,
ладонь твоя у меня на груди,
как рука лезет в коробку сигарет.
ванили вкус на губах остался,
пьянее становится после поцелуя,
растрепал волосы на макушке.
проводит тело каждое эхо,
толчками бьет по коже звук.
по спине пробежавший палец,
стремился остаться во рту.
24.10.22

hand of yours is the softest
when it’s not touching me
you’re the one closest
if i don’t see you
name of yours is sweeter
if it flashed only in my head
you’re the most wanted
if you notice everyone but me

i stumble, get stuck
move my eyes away
can’t throw a single word
swallow my feelings
i can pull a thread of thoughts
from my red ears.

at least for one day
can i be free?

(05.12.22 might work on this one later)

the biggest star in our solar system is dick

The Earth is hundred and fifty million km away from the Dick
Copernicus said “The Earth evolves around the Dick”
The Dick is what gives us warmth, it takes 8 minutes for light to come to us
some say that they can only exist due to the Dick.
the Dick is what gave us enlightenment,
what opened eyes of ours.
the Dick is what handed Da Vinci paint
some say industrial revolution started because of the Dick
the Dick makes people love and hate
The Dick created wars famines and nuclear weapons
some say ancient tribes worshipped it.
Ice age started because less sunlight was reaching the Earth, or should i call it Dicklight?
did you know that great minds wake up before the Dickrise?
the Dick made small men think big of themselves
it made women self conscious so they feel little
that’s where men get the audacity to call me a cunt,
it makes them say you’re pretty when you cry
it made them search your description in the hub
it made my dad bury my childish body,
it was the first time when he called me a slut

the biggest star in our universe is the Dick
or could something else be central astrological body of the system?
maybe something heated by nuclear fusion reactions in its core
something radiating mainly light and ultraviolet
something consisting from hydrogen
something maybe called the Sun?

something that wouldn’t define my self-worth
whether if i wear a slutty skirt, or covered from head to toe
whether if they call me Virgin Mary or a drunken whore
whether if i laugh too much or don’t smile enough

i guess now it’s enough
enough

06.12.22

Муза


святыми непризнанная муза,
иконопись разбитых улиц,
дитя порочного союза,
страдалица, мученица,

искусство.

винил, живущий в переулках,
парфюм клубничного мускуса,
оборваные стены,
колготки на голом теле,
ожоги, шрамы, и порезы,
от слез,

с груди они не слезут.

ты пахнешь утренним рассветом,
в закате пряча силуэты,
тех грустных лиц,
что на картинах красовались,
мелками хилыми водя,
ты в отражении - одна,
в очах мужских ты сна молитва,
и молчаливо ты глядишь,
в пустое зеркало старинное,
себя не видя, все грустишь.

по блаженным оврагам
бежала в обуви сестры,
своей любви ты так боялась,
не добежав, таясь во лжи.

ты все искала отражение
в кирпичных барах,
затопленных панельках,
забытым богом полках,
в ленте уведомлений,

перед тобою - пустота.

пустотой ты и красива,
что не видишь своей страсти,
что слепа на лести, сказки,
что трудна тебе любовь отца.

ты красота своей рукою,
ты красота своим умом,
ты красота приподнятой губою,
ты для меня - желанный сон.

и пусть я стану дурачиной,
не снявшей с зеркала платок,
с венком залитых слез над головою
меня б утешил твой звонок.

(стих Д посвященный мне)

влюбляясь в первых встречных, я необъятно себя боюсь.

и вот, время полночь. ты сидишь на краешке кровати и делаешь самокрутку. я молчу в потолок. уже потом ты говорила, что любила на меня смотреть. я никому о тебе не расскажу и буду стараться тебя забыть.




и вот, время полночь. я сижу на краешке кровати и молчу в потолок. зима так тихо говорит ночью. я ложусь на краешек кровати на бок, и лицо твое и голос сразу образами возникают. это давит, у меня непроизвольно текут слезы, я пытаюсь отвлечься и больше никогда не вспоминать. вот так и влюбляйся в первых встречных и получай потом по полной.

чертов краешек кровати.

наверное, это все потому что ночь. днем будет лучше, ведь днем я тебя забываю.

it’s hard to breathe
this dense
winter air

tiptoes


it’s crawling quietly behind my back
under our feet there’s only snow
crunching sound.
knuckles are white
on frozen hands
when it touches my shoulder
i look around
but it’s not there,
it’s gone.
little steps are so quiet
tiptoes- i suppose it’s called
night walks are filled with dense fog.
in the reflections of my messy bath.
i wasn’t able to wash off
yesterday’s mascara messing me up.

it whispers before i go to sleep,
so i always have to sweep printed footsteps on the snow.
i feel like falling down to rabbit’s hole or you can call it misery.
it was gone.

now, it’s right in front of me,
it blinks as i breathe,
glancing through his eyes,
opens his mouth to speak.
i got caught,
yet i can’t say
that i could
constantly
resist.


26.12.22

i miss my home

there’s a little shining star where she lives,
yet she wants to be a gulp of water.
to run down on body as she sparkles and shivers.
she wants to flitter with feathers, color of gray,
letting through the cold breeze of the mouth wanting to say:
“I’m putting effort by my absence” a little pause after,
he kisses on her cheek with three days’ stubble.
then she did fall asleep under fragrance of sorrow,
missing home where she used to live, with nor yesterdays or tomorrows.
she is left with the blank stare on the dripping kitchen sink.
thinking if there are any ways she could be served on a plate.
as a fillet mignon, if she could get chewed between his teeth,
fingers of his are folding a fork with her mom picked up on.
with same under eye bags or chin bumping a little bit forward,
with slightly wavy dark brown hair, eyes closed, she’s so still and calm,

eventually fever dream has come to an end,
ripped apart orbits are sewed back,
so she could live in little star again,
and grow into running sparkle pouring from pink gums smelling like cigarettes.

12.02.23

remark: “i miss my home” is about household, relationships of my parents and their projection to my personal life and my destructive tendencies.

when Rosalia said “Te quiero ride
Como a mi bike” I cried

in the city of T.

I can hear fragile heartbeat sound under the sheets covering us,
as I cover my eyelids while cuming.
I have his taste on my tongue:
wet, sweaty and salty.
I am laying on the shore as his breathing covers me from head to toe
My body shivers and trembles, yet my chest is silent.
I’m petite and my skin is soft,
I’m tall but not taller than him.
I taste like strawberries even down there and did I mention that I’m tight?
I remain a fantasy a vision,
puberty fever dream.
Curly, tall, slick, hairy, beefy sailors took me away on western breeze,
I am laying on the shore while they pass by and throw glances.
Everytime somebody comes up to help me get up, i still I remain lain.
I was carried on their strong hands yet drowned by them as well.
Got kissed on sunburned skin of shoulder and spit by the same mouth.
Time to time I find myself buried under sand castles once raised for me.
Do my hair, chest, head and legs belong to me?
I recognize their face through overlapping frames of the film.
Though I forgot to remember their names.
The sailors hid me in the city, where Bossa Nova is played,
Where we’ll meet again to fuck and eat and drink and kiss and never sleep.
Even If you wrapped your finger around me.

22.03.2023

to L.
the view of my back resembles rock.
hand-painted, splashed all over with paint-
wall.
a canvas,
soon to be in his cold room, where i can’t fit,
even with whispered “please”.
he gets up every morning to get his coupon-kiss.
my mourning for sobriety comes by afternoon meal,
though in-between-my-legs is used to serve food as well.
with every gulp of water washing stomach burn by yesterday’s shots,
he catches my every breathe, as i jungle dry yes and nos.
morning is given for us to question my existence,
to feel pure playful wind stroking down our hair,
to feel sun on lids, covering big big pupils,
to wash off smell of smoke and lips,
to be karma for one another,
leaving both dead.
14.04.23

my consort

i have a lump on my throat
but you gently undress
my mind from thoughts.
with the smoothest touch,
you gather my tears of gold,
pull out words from my bridle
to keep it deeply hidden.
yet the glance makes me sure
of your warmth, running
from your pumping heart
to the every fingertip.

16.05.23

my tongue slipped into the hole of t-shirt with bare skin,
I’m speechless, so you are.
Eventually some of us will start
bargaining, talking, laughing and kissing
untill it boils into nonsense.
When we both unconsciously try to prove ourselves we’re wrong.
then my tongue starts sliding against the direction of hair growth.
At that moment I wish to find myself a small piece of home.
Where I can dream of clouds in the blue sky.
As I don’t overthink how my nostrils catch the air,
as my hands swim among sweaty and high,
and every hair string tingles my skull.
unshakable peace.


06.07.23

is it the time to write poems?
with sleepless eyes they type
the poems. hidden, forgotten and lost.

I’m no longer vers libriste, i guess
because there’s a long for rhythm.
although it remains just a simple wish.

Have you cried besides your mother?
while she’s already asleep you can
remember of those sleepovers years ago.

it is the time to re-read the Fall.
Because I can’t read any else, to know
where am I placed in the literary world.


08.08.23

i can thrive in the dark basement
among lost.
and i promise to not disappoint you,
mom.
it just happened to be couple of
lines.


24.08.23

beauty spilled under one’s feet
smushed between one’s legs
and squirted into it’s mouth
like beads sparkling when touching the ground.
microscopic heart beat
examined by my ears: 100bpm.
only in front of you darkness-
I can be bare skin
and only you can accept me,
without a whisper, grab
without strokes and slaps.
Wild women once ruling the land
became “madonna syndrome” wives.
once a daughter of silk road steppes
now a manic pixie dream girl.
i was Godly scripted coding
before receiving 04AM “you up??” text
I was a sparkle, lightning, boom creating Earths, me and yous
I was a beauty
Before bruising into same shelves.
I was a breeze brushing through mountain ridges.
before running into your Dior Sauvage Eau de Parfum
once
i will be just moving to the music beat
I will be swaying on waves of mirage.
I will be held by his arms,
I will close my eyes to realize:
it was me and nothing at the same time,
I’m out of time and space
I’m eternal,
never ending stream
of thought,
consciousness
and light.

19.05.24

I remain a hopeless poet

once i rejected the flith
and drowned myself in the music,
I couldn’t stop but notice your back
like a blade so sharp but precise you were,
and still are.
once i rejected expectations,
as the water accepts one wholly
i discovered a blessing,
handed on a silver platter.
i accept my fate with you
or the absence of it.
yet so jealous of the wind
that can stroke your hair.
we are geometrical rays,
endless, yet start from a point-
when we have crossed.
be the blessing, gold coated tears,
name of your will be a prayer on my lips
be the blade to stab me on the soft spot of my guts.
while I fell in love with your blood covered gums.
whether if it’s your job to teach or vanish
I accept my fate as tiptoes touch the water first
it will consume me wholly
and the absence of everything,
because i remain a hopeless poet.


29.07.24