yesterday i broke my piggybank,
i’ve gambled my childhood
in a casino at the russian roulette,
i danced kazacioc on the streets of moscow
and i’ve won my dream date
with the beautiful girl who works
at the boulevard with the mc donald’s and the pet shop in the corner.

we will kiss.
we will kiss.
we will kiss.
we are wearing sketchers, tight jeans
a top hat and a trench-coat like maia morgenstern,
a carrot instead of a nose,
cigarettes instead of eyes,
a torn trench-coat and a frozen broom;
in our pockets we keep our memories like some
doses of red bull that were drunk on rhythms by frank sinatra.
in that time our teeth were made of milk,
we played with dolls,
and with beatiful pixies from fairy-tales.
now we are two snowmen
and every kiss
is like a shot in the head with bullets of amethyst.

we loose ourselves like snowflakes
and nobody cares;
no christmas magic,
no winter wonder,
not even a few globes of glass.
nothing.
like cold snowmen
we gaze at snowflakes falling on the reddish concrete.
all the people wink wickedly at us
and try to understand our thoughts.

cold. we are two fat and frozen turkeys
killed on thanksgiving day
and we go home with a taxi of our imagination.
the road seems long
like the milky way
across seas and countries,
across the stars,
above the snow which loved us.

across the mc donald’s
we’ll drink and have green olives,
we’ll fight with cream and chocolate cake,
with all out haughtiness
and all our lovers’ arrogance.

i am jack frost.
you are marilyn monroe.