Katya

You used to write me then, of furs and feather and winters, bloody in a tenement, an injured frozen shock, you wrote of smoothing kisses, and sybarites of the knock, Brighton Beach you credit, with dollars, beds,fancy business, Villa's if you can get them, where you go to unlock, men cast in lonely splinters, and walk home crocked, laying down drained and spent, do you only help resisters, you my rootless friend, wearing boots and leathers?