Poezie
Poem
1 min lectură·
Mediu
every time when we hold on to our memories
locked up under the shell of a useless thing
a shadow of a doubt breaks the smile
that barely flickers in the corner of the mouth
as if we bit from a sour grape
and then, the grey folds of death
flutter somewhere, in an uncertain
but sufficiently perceptible place
like a cold and kind breeze
shortly caressing our hair
on a sunset bathed beach
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