So, dear my girl, now hark...
Do you hear night - she speaks.
She does. And cries the dark,
And whisper lights. High peaks.
The word is just a glass,
This drink is then served straight.
Without a form of brass
Freed from the clinking weight.
A feeling with no box,
A spirit with no body
That no dimension locks
That sweeps rash through paths muddy.
So, dear my girl, I speak
With you when your head sleeps.
My heart in your chest sneaks
And I dive in your deep.
deep
© Copyright: Михаил Фризен, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123032407659
Свидетельство о публикации №123032407659
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