She's always far behind horizon,
if only she could lay her eyes on
me, then may the nightmares go away?
It seems that sigh cares only for the air,
as time cares for decay.
And maybe being parallel for lines
is not the worst-
as though they never cross,
they're ever close.
But am I wandering, my dear,
through every mirror, clear
or broken into pieces;
have I found the home?
Now my reflection wants to be
right here,
just in your glasses,
swallowing me
whole.
(And someday I'll cast the shadow on your cheek)
Could
© Copyright: Данила Васильев, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117032410814
Свидетельство о публикации №117032410814
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