Unrealized conversation

Tossing and turning at night, can't sleep.

I need to get through to you on the phone.

I just can't for the third day now.

A migraine has already flared up,

Though that, of course, is a banality.

Reality streams like a torrent,

Flies by in persistent tasks.

You can't tell of them in two words,

It would turn into a collection of stories

With a list of vague directives.

Short ten minutes

Will slip away like loose sand.

A chain of sweet phrases grows

And beats anxiously like a bird.

I need to deliver a bouquet of sensitive words

To a distant alcove

Fluffy and warm to the touch,

So you understand — tonight

I am habitually grieving for us.

But how will the phone convey

The ardor of a bright, turbulent feeling?

Inside the receiver it's cold, empty.

Will passionate Eros warm it?

Perhaps, in a host of cares,

You have no time for ardent tenderness.

We'll shuffle the old cards again

In an empty conversation.

The train of thought is completely different,

It loathes the minutes,

The cruel fetters of time.

Inquiries, a lengthy reply,

Regards from mutual acquaintances,

The latest rumors and gossip

About what happened the other day…

The essence of the call in three main words.

I love you. Forever.