One more equinox
For both of us
Like a story of saudade,
Like a lonesome wind
In the coldest sails,
We dance,
We cough so roughly,
We burn the incense
And then inhale it.
Their names
Are buried under cloth,
Their heroism
Againt someone's brutality.
They don't live,
They don't die,
They still compose
The urban hymns of internality.
Equinox
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122102606542
Свидетельство о публикации №122102606542
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