Tuesday, January 1, 2019




Sweet Rosh wine touches your hot lips
With fine flavours of apple and cinnamon,
And in winter dreams shiver with good kisses,
What swoop on me for the first time.

Out cold, the blanket of Așterne softly,
in the alley calling us in a happy décor,
When the moon whispered of corner destiny,
Among the gem moments in crane flights.

Beloved, it snows like tales in alleys with longing,
when you embrace me in your strong arms,
reborn from the ashes of the sweet shiver,
rose petals in angelic glances.

Oooh, love in the winter dream sprinkled in green,
When snowflakes play in your hair,
And your eyes traverse the white alleys on the boulevards,
Among the fluffy clouds that sang to us.


One snowflake is spread softly,
In games funny over twigs sweet thread,
Clothing the silver coat of the new love,
In Kisses of fire when you made me laugh.

Your cheeks a flake
With baked apple flavours and cinnamon,
Waking up the moment you set me up,
The suave fragrance on my skin of this summer.

Snowflakes romp in harmony on your skin,
When milled leaves of pure pass
The time of the sonnet pierced as-and-before,
Of stellar flight to Aurora-fragrant.

To carol your fragrant body of myrrh and a kiss
of intoxicating flakes on your cheek,
Melting the ice through eternal love,
Lighting flares Miss what we were waiting for,

One snowflake romp on a path,
The Înalțând of the thought once trembled,
With Angel do what, you accidentally opened me up,
The gate of the white soul that eternally crawls me.


You were watching me with those emerald eyes,
Sculpând on my lips touched by the
Sun in the symphony of words
What is scaled over the rivers of light-enticing flavor.

I'm only asking the second of the autumnal dream,
What penetrates my naked being,
The divine kiss flying in nights, naughty,
Sipping time like a flower younger.

Wings I'd have to break into your soul,
Let me be the song and the she, the stars and the moon,
And at dawn to give you a thread
of unwritten love, even the rain-tide.

A rain of kisses poured in moments,
I get drunk with sweet cinnamon flavours,
On a November day that gives me wings,
To the starry skies, being your Anişoara.


ANA MARIA NICULESCU She is editor of the Romanian Speech magazine. Editor of the Literary archive magazine. She's published in several magazines from abroad. She's a member of the World Poets Association.

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