My name
Until you grieve me —
Yet it will land on tongue the way
That makes you breathe me —
A ghost-note clung to every breath,
A charm, a chain, a dare with death
And when you speak it, slow or fast,
You'll taste the thing that could not last.
Свидетельство о публикации №126063000125
Женевьева Гжибовска 30.06.2026 00:54 Заявить о нарушении