Every beginning has a story and
in this one, you are the reason
why ‘phrontistery’ has no synonyms
or a specific meaning and transparency.
And I am only the moonlight girl
that likes the right side of the bed,
not because the left is yours,
but because the word ‘nihilarian’
suits better the tiny, strawberry-like
birth mark on my lower back
and the widdiful dragons in your dreams.
And all I desire is a reason, maybe a couple,
and a quire, azurelaid and antique, to pencil down
the seconds dancing at half- pace
when we mastered anatomy and agastopia,
when instead of scars and brontides
the stars left luscious trace in the night,
and the velvet causeuse is no longer lethological
but wild, kiss-consuming, violent with delight.
© 2015, poem, Blaga Todorova, All rights reserved