you promise me a myriad of stars,
you lead me outside to pick some lilacs,
you write me poems like we're royal bards,
but in reality, we're nothing more than shadows.
you faithfully sow little grains of hope.
I know your love cannot incinerate me.
lips hot as wax, grip tight as rope,
I lust for you as blooming plants for bees.
I know we're living through the best 'today'
so here's a question:
do we have 'tomorrows'?
Tomorrow?
© Copyright: Фендеров Федор, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123041008070
Свидетельство о публикации №123041008070
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