are his eyes really, really so green as hell?
as the summer grass in the earliest morning,
or the leaf of the orchid which name I spell
wrong at every syllable – as a moron,
or the kind of emerald – sparkling gem
which I saw just once – at the Art museum,
sort of things you know that losing them
will reduce your all whole life to zero?
or it’s stagnant water which coloured deep
with the all this foliage of trees reflection
in the place which perfectly suits to keep
all the secrets nobody wants to mention?
all the shades of green I don’t need to know
of these eyes mysterious and required
for it cannot help me drowning deep and slow
every time I look in them and don't mind it.
to think of
© Copyright: Плутонный Трактор, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115012210032
Свидетельство о публикации №115012210032
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