Vladimir Mayakovsky Poetry

That night was to decide
if she and I
were to be lovers.
Under cover
of darkness
no one would see, you see.
I bent over her, it's the truth,
and as I did,
it's the truth, I swear it,
I said
like a kindly parent:
"Passion's a precipice -
so won't you please
move away?
Move away,
please!"

Poet: Vladimir Mayakovsky