Sent letters —
Bliss. They are read.
They cry over them,
Kiss them and hug them.
You didn’t write
And they do not accept yours.
Yours is to distribute,
Do not confuse
And remember,
To bypass all the addressees.

In the intimacies of the senses
You are an intermediary,
In confessional envelopes,
Love flame,
Someone’s dream…
You are a pipe for water.
For current wire.

And do not complain,
That your name does not exist
Neither in the stamp, nor in any of the corners.
None of the people will remember him.
But until the time hides it
Reliable eternity archive.