In a little forest above Lake Boracko we found a meadow
and the wooden hut that we rented for a week.
In the morning the village women would sell us sour cream and cheese
and raspberries. I have spread a little basket of raspberries on your
naked belly, then I fished them out with my tongue.
The trace of raspberries on the alabaster of your belly
resembled a large bloody stain.
Days of joy and sex were showering us like golden dust
and disappeared in rattling coaches on the dusty stony road,
Our bodies were the signs on the stone road.
Our bodies were chalk that got wasted
while drawing obscure signs on the blackboard of time.
Today, leaning on the big white cushion,
you offer me the raspberry that remains from your hospital plate,
unaware that my imagination calls for pictures from the time of raspberries.
Now I love you more, much more.
My love protects you with its porous umbrella,
love that waited for a long time now comes in the moment when you don’t expect it,
at the moment when your face gets pinched from the pain.
Translated by Goran Simić