Love
by Nikolai Oleynikov
The couch is squeaking
With amorous heat--
Yes, here we are,
And it's your defeat.
You were so fearful
To love me tonight,
All day you resisted
And put up a fight.
I planted a kiss
On your lovely lips,
Then inventoried
Your skirts and slips.
But you were wearing
Only one skirt,
And then between us
A passion stirred.
But in an hour
I grew tired and bored
And covered you up
Of my own accord.
I've had enough
Of holding you tight
And boldly proceeded
To move you aside.
I kept to myself
As you turned away.
Then I felt drowsy
As you stood up awake.
Then in the morning
I looked at you long
With your eyes still shut
And your make-up gone.
I sighed with desire,
Embraced you once more,
And the couch again
Would tremble and roar.
But this wasn't love
This time anymore!
It was only blood stirring--
Nothing less, nothing more.
As I walked out
With a casual gait,
You timidly watched me
In the radiant day.
Last night I loved you
With a zeal so strong--
The chain's now broken
And the memory's gone.
This kind of love
Just isn't for me,
For surely love
Sacred must be.
--translated by Alexander Shaumyan
Copyright © 2005 by Alexander Shaumyan