My dearest, of the dear,

sweet wife, it is here we belong.

The appointed time has returned this day,

for Winter Sun to bid a tender farewell

to our snowy-shrouded city of grand hopes.

Winter Sun’s last luminous kiss,

a kiss tender, sweet and lingering heavily

upon the gold-leafed cupolas of ancient cathedrals.

Each sacred dome shimmering

warmly to the Winter Sun’s Love,

as you, dearest wife of mine,

react to my passionate kisses,

generating fiery, rose-gold, monadic sparks

radiating outward from your divine heart

to nourish and bring life to my soul,

as God’s Love brings peace to our sorrowful universe.

My only Love,

without your warrior’s heart,

without your ever-present smile,

without the sensual touch of

your soft hand held in mine,

without your trusting Love,

I would be only another

of Medusa’s cold, stone men.

As Winter Sun sets below the horizon,

darkening shadows stroll

the near-deserted stone streets of Kyiv,

like hungry ghosts devouring all remaining light,

these children of Sister Night.

November Wind blows, short, blistering kisses

to the freshly fallen snow,

conjuring up into the air,

twisting enchanted ice crystals spirals,

jewelled necklaces adorning the dark goddess of night.

Moon Maiden rises dominant in the night sky,

her silver light playing and laughing joyfully

with each unique snowflake blown into the air

by her lover, November Wind.

I return from work,

rubbing shoulders with dark, hungry ghosts,

and speaking of you to Moon Maiden and Winter Sun

about our eternal and sacred Love,

my most beloved of all that is beloved.

I tell them how you replace my covers

on damp, cold winter nights,

of our mutual joy when

we make holy Love to each other.

How I delivered from your womb our second daughter

and placed her onto your breast to feed and bond.

How we first met,

finding our never-ending song of songs.

How each evening we lay Sonya and little Arabella to bed,

tucking covers securely around them both,

telling ancient tales of noble knights

and beautiful ladies.

Kissing both as each drifts happily off to their dreams.

This night so frigid,

a coldness seeking entrance to my bones.

I am safe, for I wear the wool sweater

knitted by my Love as my armour.

At last,

I stand before the great walnut doors to our dear home,

thinking of you, my dearest Love,

and our two wonderful girls.

Opening the doors,

I enter the hall

removing gloves, coat, sweater, and boots.

Quietly,

I walk to the kitchen,

seeing you and Sonya cooking heavenly borsch

for the man they both adore.

Our youngest daughter plays with her dolls

on the kitchen floor, giggling happily.

Sonya turns,

jumping into my arms, hugging my neck tightly,

“Papa, I missed you so much today.”

I kiss her on her forehead and place her down,

telling her, “I love you very much!”

I bend over to kiss little Arabella.

A stray strand of hair has fallen

across your forehead and

you have a bit of flour on your chin.

I smile at the sight,

greeting you,

“My darling, dearest Enchantress,

you are more beautiful

than any goddess in any tale.”

I grasp you around your waist

and pull your lips towards mine,

kissing you in the private language

known only to true lovers,

tongues speaking deep feelings to each other.

Sonya, wise beyond her six years,

smiles with joy,

for one day, she too shall have her beloved.

You playfully push me away,

your heart happy and pleased.

Laughing sweetly, you say,

“Oh, Mishenka, please sit down,

Sonya and I have our dinner ready.”

Of dearest and most beloved Princess,

how did I come by such a one as you?

For me, there can only be you.