I had your heart
on the palm of my soul,
A gift of an instant
consumed like a coal.
An ash of desire
for the different mold --
the instant that spins
and cannot be retold.
Not ever my dear
i'll ask you for more.
To love - is too liniar.
I stole what's beyond.
1999
on the palm of my soul
© Copyright: София Юзефпольская-Цилосани, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112061506573
Свидетельство о публикации №112061506573
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