Flew as a cheering bird, a heartfelt letter
It brings us back to sparks and silent ashes
Though I am not so sure of the latter
Can one be sure against your eyelashes?
In mirrored insides was so much for me
To die for... or at least to cherish
In lovers eyes there's always more to see
And less to find if one is doomed to perish
The metaphysics is decieving, though
Demanding to let go the feeling
Why should one ever be so mean to throw
Away what makes you whole, the dearest of filling?
Wrinkled
© Copyright: Евжени Бу, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113080302321
Свидетельство о публикации №113080302321
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