And then the counterpart of languor is nimble
Comes as indulgence upon ascetic limbs
As if the sound of dreary violin strings
Is pounced by vivid sonant cymbals
And then the brightness of the sun ‘s uncertain
For what grows ripe inside your lucid self
Is fair o’er to be defined as stealth
Though you now never want to pull the curtain
And now the marble of the skin is peach skin
That’s destined to be touched by lips alone
While challenging the limits of voice tone
Revealing hanging gardens burn within
And grapes of eyes cast sherry whereas smoulder
As black locks vine about snow-white shoulder
R
© Copyright: Запах Сарсапарели, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120042808261
Свидетельство о публикации №120042808261
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