I call you honeyovsky
didn't we learn to love from Russian novels

the first night you slept beside me
is in my mind, written in cuneiform script
no, no, as a cave painting

at the start I let you wait a while
forgive me for that

for some time now I've hidden your name
you don’t know why

the scarf you were knitting was left half finished
let it be, until next winter
so that your loneliness is only partial, also

that green apple you gave to me one morning
let it be a secret password between us

and let your eyebrows grow
the pretentiousness scares me,
just as it does with architecture and poetry

your legs are full of childhood wounds
we make love at a canter
we love each other,
patient as your growing hair

but I still confuse
the long nicknames in Russian novels