I am longing for striking encounters,
Breathing lyrics among hidden clues,
And frank talks in the thickening twilights
With indelible cranberry juice.
I am yearning for fanciful chanting
From the far-away blueberry depths
Of the ocean ice-cold in the Arctic
That will melt bitter wrinkles like wax.
I am sighing for beautiful heath bogs
With the mosses enameled and glazed…
At the rocky edge, near sea billows,
Where the amethyst shore still awaits...
Let the sky be pulled into my knapsack...
And pearl beads as a gift for sea folks...
But no needle is left in the haystack
To stitch up cosmopolitan roads.
24 June, 2024
I am longing for striking encounters...
© Copyright: Виктория Эдуардовна Козловская, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124071905414
Свидетельство о публикации №124071905414
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