[400x600]“Да, я знаю, я вам не пара,
Я пришел из иной страны,
И мне нравится не гитара,
А дикарский напев зурны…”
A morning in magenta, the petals fed from the dew. She held her breath for a moment, to pause off the stream. Still clinging to vast, old memories. And I would marvel at her beauty, playing through the rain.
[500x362]
We dance and the music dies. We
carry them all away, as we glide through
their lost eyes.
We are without
excuse. We burn in our lust. We die in our
eyes and drown in our arms.