Surrounded by tobacco fog.
Embroidered sky.
Our eyes locked
In crowds passing by.
Destiny predicted you to me
By sending boats
To the raining sea
Painted on the roads.
But you just want to play my days
Picking none,
Hiding your face
In every ordinary one.
On your lips frozen glint
Can never last.
Snow staying mint
At the death of the past.
At the Death of the Past
© Copyright: Илюша Зернов, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113031712741
Свидетельство о публикации №113031712741
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