I’ve been aching for the scent of your hair,
For the dew that suddenly kissed your pale, bare skin,
And I miss the sweet hurt of those rosy streaks
Left by the Tigress’s nails… maybe that’s the thing.
I’ve been longing for the stars in your eyes,
For your lashes lowered, shy and soft,
And for those two voices, singing out in sweet moans,
Thrashing in ecstasy, like birds locked up in a loft.
Locked up in a loft
© Copyright: Святослав Соловьев, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126102006920
Свидетельство о публикации №126102006920
Рецензии