White, his body is white like snow.
But neither his lips nor hands are cold.
This one I feel, this one I know.
And I'm not forgotten, so I've been told.
Hot, his words are as hot as fire.
Water cools down inside his eyes.
Is this throbbing pain my desire
Or is it our memory haunting us?
White, his body is white like snow.
Moonlight shining across his skin.
Everything's for a yes or no.
Something's just bound to begin...
White
© Copyright: Мейлинг Ирина, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111110909577
Свидетельство о публикации №111110909577
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