recoveringmale

good morning. it is fucking early. another day of work. getting up this at this hour demands a certain quality of music to wake up to. this morning quasi keeps me company while i dress in the darkness.
and it is poetry day. Rain showed me this one... enjoy.

Where does this tenderness come from?
These are not the first - curls I
have stroked slowly - and lips I
have known - are darker than yours

as stars rise often and go out again
(where does this tenderness come from?)
so many eyes have risen and died out
in front of these eyes of mine.

and yet no such song have
I heard in the darkness of night before,
(where does this tenderness come from?):
here, on the ribs of the singer.

Where does this tenderness come from?
And what shall I do with it, young
sly singer, just passing by?
Your lashes are - longer than anyone's.
-Marina Tsvetasva