On exhale you close your eyes
Your breath is coming slower
Your feelings tense, your spirits rise
Your feet like roots are lower
I touch your hand, it's under mine
I guide it to the left
You feel bark roughness of the pine
Each single piece and cleft
I lead your fingers to wet silk
Of small leaves from moss carpet
A touch of lips is like a steel
It's salmonberry started.
The blowing breeze has smell of mushrooms
With juniper slight touch
You breathe this air like some perfumes
I hope it's not too much..
A touch
© Copyright: Вероника Биткина, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115051902665
Свидетельство о публикации №115051902665
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