The ginger - a colour of her hair,
was shining,
sparkling,
filling the grey space with freshness.
I could not touch her:
The flame of her hear was far too hot to steal.
Then I turned myself into that self-same flame,
into the colour of a poet.
I was kissing her, as an equal.
Ginger ENG
© Copyright: Виктор Климашевский, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110082103631
Свидетельство о публикации №110082103631
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