Since we met, I've never worn a costume.
Since we met, I've never worn a mask.
Hope I'll never be about to force you
Sit without me at a lonely desk.
Touch of March in* middle of December
Worth me nothing, but it was a gift.
Hope, my redness, you will still remember
Towards me the unexpected shift.
No vanilla, just the concrete data.
Hope to be your soldier and your priest,
Once a time a sweety, once - predator.
Just don't you release my tired wrist.
Inspired by 'Redness' and her beloved song 'Touch To Much'
*in the middle
адреса: https://www.poetryclub.com.ua/getpoem.php?id=554895
Рубрика: Лірика
дата надходження 26.01.2015
автор: Андрій Конопко