In The Flying Knives Houses Poem by Aleksandra Polyakova
In The Flying Knives Houses
In the flying knives houses
Grow red flowers.
Once you will ask for ruth,
Once you, once you.
There are no wrists weaker than mine,
I have nowhere to go,
The flower feeds on misfortune
The stem creeps along the storeys.
Winged flaps of fine pain
In a quiet evening near the stove.
And nothing is visible except
A flower that doesn't drink water.
Friday, August 16, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: women
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5/4/2024 2:40:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
