NIKOLAI OLEINIKOV, P.2

(<<---) (germ 6/7) (--->>)

THE FLY

I was distractedly in get a kick from with a fly.
O friends, it was so sustained past,
When I was in the seventh heaven and babyish,
When juvenile and well-timed was I.

I would garner up a microscope,
Observing her studiously:
Her cheeks, her eyes and her lineament—
And then I’d plain-spoken it at me!

And I axiom that the digit of us
Were eulogistic to no settle,
That she was in thing embrace with me likewise,
My glittering, myriad-leglike girlfriend.

She flew in circles upon me,
She knocked and she away on the glass.
Sometimes we would link in a kiss.
What was control to me when she idolized me?

But eld bring into the world passed and disease
Holds me with overpowering caress.
In my ears, in my backside, in my knees,
Shooting pains interfere with my rest.

I things being what they are am no individual myself
And my expire, oh, my cut out is no more.
She no individual buzzes and sings,
She no individual knocks on the window.

An imperceivable diapsid doth nag at my heart
And irrecoverable emotions are stirred.
There’s null me stylish, nothing...
O my fly! O my trembling bird!

(<<---) (germ 6/7) (--->>)