The cold night wind whipping my face,
the kiss of death I showing its
kindest terrible, attractive ...
I keep this light and the pulse of my body
wisps of mist floating between
that cover this desolate field
of twisted black trees
watchtowers of time.
mists They tear my soul like
and you see through your fingers
as my life passes
as a vague remembrance that flies away
riding on the wings of a bird.
ice freezes my being,
I do not feel anything except that caress
tibia, known ....
a touch I've been waiting
from the nights of waking.
And I feel your lips on mine
pulse reborn in your arms
and cover my cheeks flush
with the force of your body ...
But it is more than air
brings me nostalgia of your poems
of your looks quiet
and your absences in silence
while walking from the cemetery
forsaken of God.
Nikto
0 comments:
Post a Comment