When to the lips of yours remains a half of breath to slice,
when to the lips of yours remains a half for pacing —
your pupils - woven from a really big surprise,
and in your eyes is blue… and wideness – spacing.
You whisper something what is charmed and quietly
the whisper, like a blues, that torments soul’s desire.
And I forget, that I can breathe for quiet bit,
that I could even walk – forget. Admire
from eyelids - black bird rises – it’s unstoppable,
it takes my confidence somewhere to deal…
The half for pacing still remains un-step-able,
a half of breath is stuck in throat - for real.
Your pupils - woven from a really big surprise,
and in your eyes is blue… and wideness – spacing.
But to the lips remains a half of breath to slice,
and to your lips remains a half for pacing.