Picturishka

i fold my heart in careful lines,

put hopes between the creases.

the ink pretends it knows the time,

and paper never teases

some live in drawers, some disappear,

some age like good french wine,

some prove we once were very clear

and meant it at the time

the art of word, the cure of void

the one that world have given

the wall by us, it is destroyed

the paper left unriven

ариша игоревна. 14.01.26