A mere touch resembles smoke
That creeps its way to skin.
But only after you come home,
Hair shattered on a pillow,
Just as you fall asleep you sense
The sweetness it has left.
Comes as a punch, right in the chest –
The smokey velvet you have dreams of
And it takes away the breath.
As fast and subtle as
A mere touch.
A touch
© Copyright: Яна Физалова, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115100609176
Свидетельство о публикации №115100609176
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