A handful of blood
And a goodbye kiss,
Midday, September
And a warm though last summer breeze.
She puts hands on his cheeks,
Wind caresses their hair.
He has a bloody chin,
Farewell-full lips and her last glare.
His hands slip from a pat,
Sun ignites her curlstack.
She bears his last glance at
The ribbed jugate shields of her near-fluid back.
It ends
© Copyright: Евгений Лайонел Балмонт, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118081804262
Свидетельство о публикации №118081804262
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