Translated from Russian by Yevgeny Yevtushenko and Gracy Davidson
When the night, exhausted from passion,
slowly began to be reborn as morning,
between our separated lips, linking them again,
suspended baby's thin sweet saliva,
shining as a silver swaying thread.
And this thread didn't want to tear apart,
two bodies transformed into one,
this thread sparkled, like a lonely strand,
remembering King Solomon and his Beloved,
who after tireless love-playing,
understood that the split would be inevitable.
We were saving the same distance between our lips,
afraid of the smallest motion,
hopelessly trying to slow down
the dying of the weak, transparent thread,
uniting our stunned lips,
carefully exhaling trembling air . . .
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Yevgeny Yevtushenko