I can't write beautifully, Yes, and in love, I am just average, But I will dare to tell you About what I saw in a dream. And so, the story is this: I, having taken a shower, went to bed, And counting the sheep, counting, I began to fall asleep quietly. Suddenly I heard a creak and what I see, In the darkness a familiar silhouette, You are getting closer and closer, I have looked closely---not naked. The moon illuminates your path to the bed, Under the coverlet, you slipped to me. I am in excitement burning in your arms, And, like a child, you clung to your chest. Bite lightly, wash with your hands, Suck, caress with your tongue. Ah, beyond words, Only a soft moan flies from my lips! And the touch of your hot lips, I feel on my chest and lips. I'm drowning in an ocean of pleasure And I'm a bird soaring in the clouds. You go down to the spring to get drunk, Kiss and caress, drink eagerly. It's my time to enjoy the caresses, I will feel how you enter me. I feel the tenderness of your strong hands, Breath intoxicating, the body burns. And I whisper a little audibly, barely intelligible: I love, I want, more, more, more........ The rhythm accelerates, hearts beat more and more, And we merged into one movement. Oh, how could I not drown in love? And screaming, and sobbing and groaning again. An orgasm in waves covers the body And tears apart my flesh. Oh Lord, I didn't dare to dream, To be a sinner and to be in paradise. I do not wish to wake from sleep. Fate is so evil, and life is cruel. Alas, in real life there is no you, And without you, I am very lonely.
# The Dream I dreamed last night of a garden where flowers bloomed without soil, where birds sang in languages I almost understood. There was a house with many doors— each one opened to a different sky, and I walked through them all, my footsteps making no sound. A woman stood at the far end wearing a dress of starlight, her face kind and distant, like someone I once knew. She called my name, but the wind swallowed it. I ran toward her, but the garden grew longer. When I woke, morning was already here, the dream dissolving like mist, leaving only the feeling of hands I couldn't quite hold. Now I sit and wonder— was it the garden that was unreal, or is it this waking world that cannot bear its beauty?
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