Jul 6, 2021, 7:29 AM

Pathogenesis of the Hypothermia IVII.I.2019 

  Poetry
627 0 0

 

One winter morning on the street
You gave me a handful of affliction;
And I love, and I value - I adore it -
Just a mortal, drowned in a fiction.

 

You say you like my eyes and hair,
You say you wish I never to amend;
But you never mention the despair,
Because you always pretend.

 

Now every single winter, which occurs
I see your shade beside the wall;
Just empty space, or maybe curse
On my unending winter fall.

 

...and I love, and I value - I adore it -
Just a mortal, drowned in a fiction...
Оne winter morning on the street
You gave me a handful of affliction.

© Peter Wolf All rights reserved.

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