Why I am not yours wearing’s ,
your shirts or short, brassier, comber,
even yours perfume which you used every day
putting down sweet drops
touching them to breasts, brassieres
neck, behind ears!?
Why I am not yours red lipstick
which every morning
kisses yours lips
and rests there
as a long lasted kiss?
Why I am not your comber
which is penetrating
every morning
before the big mirror
so inspiring
into your long, abundant and richly odored hairs,
touching and pressing with its plastics fingers on your skin
as a diver diving into the sea
in searching of perlamutrs, corals
on deep bottom?
Yes, I even jealous to a shroud
by which covered nice body of my love
when she will died and rest in peace,
buried deep 6 feet under Earth.
Of course after many-many years.
Because I want to be with you and protect you
after yours death too.
Kiss you and hug in that solemn desolation
and last chamber for you.