Ad Praeceptorem
His feline voice and tender smile
Contrast with steely posture.
He looks at me so stern and mild
That causes nervous moisture.
My lips are still, my legs are crossed,
The book is falling out.
You know, I try to stay composed.
You too, and it's no doubt.
The hardest bench, the lovely park,
The lilac bush above me.
The eyes. The talk. The bag is dark.
With you I wish I would be.
I'm not yours, but you're mine
And all, of course, can see:
The more I drink this vital wine,
_The more you grow on me._
© Copyright: Катерина Анисимова 2, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126082605324
Свидетельство о публикации №126082605324
Рецензии