With you, my love, I'm standing in the light,
A little lantern's hanging right above us.
This face of yours, this blooming, starry night
Like sparkling wine, is poured in our glasses.
Today's the answer, what we're to become?
When I seek, I struggle with a feeling,
This evening's falling like a shooting star,
And every move is trembling and revealing.
In every glance I see the very end,
In every touch I whim the very hope,
And silver bracelet wrapped around your hand,
And on my lips the smell of cigarette smoke,
And every piece is tortured by our fate,
And every part is trying to avoid it.
All I desired was to feast, to sate,
And all that rests is throe of a poet.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
With you, my love, I'm standing in the light,
A little lantern's hanging right above us.
This face of yours, this blooming, starry night
Like sparkling wine, is poured in our glasses.
Today's the answer, what we're to become?
When I seek, I struggle with a feeling,
This evening's falling like a shooting star,
And every move is trembling and revealing.
In every glance I see the very end,
In every touch I whim the very hope,
And silver bracelet wrapped around your hand,
And on my lips the smell of cigarette smoke,
And every piece is tortured by our fate,
And every part is trying to avoid it.
All I desired was to feast, to sate,
And all that rests is throe of a poet.
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