Irina Rusanova, C’20
i. to Sappho
what could be more
[ ] beautiful
rubbing [ ]
in the breeze
ii. to Rimbaud
Rest your mind on this lonesome shoulder, cease to be skeletal, to wonder, wander, attaché of copulation. Ah, begotten one, sever that arm, that finger dripping with satisfaction. Your eyes bear wreaths of gold. Your body suffers contusions. I’ve been robbed. What bliss!
iii. to Tsvetaeva
In letters gold, in elderberry branches,
Comes message brought by avalanches.
And soon I—who lay low here—
Will fade and hold you, dear.
You circle arms, touch eyelid;
I’ve not met lips so morbid!
—How deep they are, in crimson hue!—
I—stamping, kiss thick brows adieu.
Now, what I long for—lashes,
That stream from eyes: dark sashes…
The pages crease, my lips lock tight:
“You’ve touched so many, am I right?”
– 30 September 2020
iv. of me
their loves were broad
they cared for others deeply.
though I of pleasure have to say:
I don’t need it!~