Deborah,
I think you'll understand what I mean
when at night I sleep on the surfaces of books
and dream of paper attics

Through the green mesh of your eyes
I see rooftops of innocence
and hills of joy

O how brilliant you are in the milky moon
O how tender is your walk through my eardrums

I collapse in my drunkenness
and watch the skies of wonder, O Deborah
I kiss the thin fabric of your lips
and journey through your hair

I'm lost, my love, in your negligee
of white horses and silky winds
Teach me the arithmetic of who you are
for I cannot add nor subtract your splendor

The rain falls blue above your wild eyes
my love
and I'm born again to wonder
if that sweet kiss
has made me whisper
upon your fair skin.

                                                June 19, 1988
                                            --Alexander Shaumyan