Drunk
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Poem
Your lips – red as wine.
The wine I drink every night
and day – sweet, divine!
I see tears on your cheeks-
wet, burning your pallid skin.
Little smile, sad and grim.
I’ll dry these tears, promise!
Believe me, love, I swear,
my precious diamond I endear.
I didn’t want to hurt you!
I didn’t want to drink!
Hurt myself by hurting you.
Your hands are cold,
your face looks so old.
Your eyes are dead.
more by DIMITAR MITROFFSKY
photograph by Sergio Alves Santos
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