On the way south

[Anonymous]

On the way south

My train was going south. He carried me along rails melted from the heavy, hot sun, over burnt grass, past thousands of kilometer pillars - straight to the sea. Through volleys of sunlight hit the carriages; the train picked up speed, breaking out of tired reality into a living, shining fairy tale.
With every clatter of wheels, with every oncoming train breathing stifling rubber through the window, I received evidence that freedom had finally been gained. I hung on the window rail next to the titan and, crumbling into many solar fragments, reassembled myself.

– Lift the siege from the titan, lady. “I need tea,” a stern baritone pulled me out of the mosaic action.
“If you please,” I said.
The owner of the baritone was tall, powerful and black, like the southern night. Or like a northern treeless rock. Yes, that’s more correct. Long black hair with gray streaks, big hands, wide torso. There seem to be a thousand rings on my hands, but no wedding ring.

The words flew out of my mouth faster than I could process them and stop them:
– Rock Man, I have chicken. Do you want?
The Rock looked down at me. I studied for two minutes. He smiled unexpectedly kindly:
– And I have red wine. It will suit your chicken perfectly.
Five minutes later, in my empty compartment, a rock grew with merlot in my right hand and... in my left there was also merlot.

I have never drank wine before from glasses in cup holders: I thought that such dishes were created exclusively for tea. It turned out that wine from rattling glasses is especially tasty: when you clink glasses, and when you hear the powerful chesty “I am Andrey,” and when you drink the tart liquid, looking at the roofs of old village houses, palisades and puddles flying past... You close your eyes, and it pours into you the dark red sun - through the larynx, and the yellow-scarlet - through the eyelids. Lots and lots of sun.

And then sunlight takes on other properties. When the compartment door is locked, and big dark eyes look questioningly and insistently, and a confident hand grabs you and takes you entirely. I nodded - it was agreement; and I nodded, confirming the correctness and necessity of the power hugs, and rough kisses, and a sharp bite at the edge of the hair, like the splash of a blade. I - refractory tantalum - spread like mercury in strong hands; hard, dry lips knew their job: I was either completely stitched through with solar threads, or I myself was a thread from which you can twist a golden rope or a ship’s rope - whatever the master wishes.

The rock was heavy and weightless, indestructible and tremulous; having pressed me into the narrow, damp bed, it occupied all the space, and it seemed that even the daylight had hidden itself, unable to find a place for itself in the cramped compartment. The rock fanned the fire, stretched the bellows, ignited the flame - and it exploded in me as a huge sun, flooding everything around, blinding and weakening.

The sun is in me. Sunset reflections on the wall. The sun is on his face. And I nod to the rhythm of the rhythmically knocking wheels and the flickering light inside me. I am a woman like never before. I am free like never before.

#Valentina Maleva

https://sun9-50.userapi.com/c857436/v85 ... 7o9a_s.jpg

[f1n2k3]

And then sunlight acquires other properties. When the compartment door is locked

[Old]

You are a poet, my friend, and you need to write and write!

[Sahaha]

Why can’t you see the photo when you can look at the photo?