The color of the silver moon above
Is brighter than your pallid hands
Flitting around like a pair of doves
They disappear without a trace.
Barely touching, those silk arms
Meet one another in the snow.
The white dust swirls and lies
So gently on the pearly brow.
Like lovers, two swords dance
Across the chilling air.
Blades cut through flowing lace,
The feelings that we share.
The tragic breath escapes
It’s stifled by the death
And yet, your smile stays
To swallow the red path.
The color of the silver moon above...
© Copyright: Сима Кивалена, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108090702570
Свидетельство о публикации №108090702570
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