I will follow your cigarette's trace
Till the death of my delicate lungs.
Just to see your indifferent face,
As I burn in the cherry-red tongues.
I will get you the star made of gold
From the heart of those infinite skies.
Just to notice that you became cold.
Just the statue with passionless eyes.
I will change myself into the dream
Eating diamonds and bittersweet words.
Just to see thunderclouds on my skin.
Are they tracks of those numerous birds?
I will run after you down the street
Just to see how the world around slowed.
Lights of cars touch my soul and my feet,
As I see shards of love on the road.
Was it love?
Was it love?
Was it love?
Love?
© Copyright: Диана Погорелова, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125010204452
Свидетельство о публикации №125010204452
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