Unsent Telegram – Pavol Janik 

Inside me a little bit of 

a blue Christmas begins. 

In the hotel room it’s snowing 

a misty scent – of your 

endlessly distant perfume. 

We’re declining bodily 

while in us the price 

of night calls rises, 

waves of private earth tremors 

and the limits of an ocean of blood 

on the curve of a lonely coast.