One dreamed of place in Neverwhere,
Just knew she built her castle there.
So traveled he across the skies
To find the beauty of her eyes —
The living spark, so warm and bright,
To kiss her hair weaved of night
And slowly touch her tender skin,
Which smells of dainty and of sin.
Her charming lips like leaves of rose.
Beneath the chin one’s road goes.
He crossed the hills and dimple small
And went ahead beyond the knoll —
Where river falls, his journey ends.
He found asylum in her hands,
And was forever happy there —
In sacred place
in Neverwhere.
2011
Иван Смирнов 714 · DCCXIV
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Neverwhere
© Copyright: Дмитрий Петров 714, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117060600101
Свидетельство о публикации №117060600101
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