A sip of love from a samovar
will not quench my thirst.
Your smile, a covert omen.
In the morning sunshine,
submerge with me naked
into the waters of the Black Sea.
Like porpoises in heat, we’ll set
eelgrass on fire, leaping
toward the sun in ecstasy.
Together we’ll lose our senses
until the earth seals our lips.
You are the lifeguard of my soul.
Rescue me, and we’ll celebrate
with a dinner my Tatar grandma
taught me: borscht, beef stroganoff,
and dancing to Louis Armstrong’s
rendition of: Ochi chernyie for desert.