Bloody-wet,
soaked to the skin,
to the worn hung-by-thread.
Dancing snow
touches and melts
as first kiss or last “no”.
Winter comes
blessed in disguise
and takes over my home.
Lips don’t care,
swing by all means,
they are sultans of swear.
On the move
words brave like swords
for their miss can be proved.
Truth in wine
blamed for headaches,
but reflects God as trine.
Bloody-cold,
Eden’s cutdown,
cross on sale, and all told…
February 4, 2011
Bloody-wet
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111020408127
Свидетельство о публикации №111020408127
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