Guest
Demirina reads poetry. Mirrors. Mirrors. You won’t know how many are in them, You won’t dare to read it if it’s sealed with a strong lock! It’s here, by the bottomless sky, that you choose your path, And on the firmament of the earth everything is written down in a meager row. And when the silver crumbles, the keys groan, And the sofas in the living room forgive their “seaters”, I can’t help, but my eyes are drowning and drowning, Falling with dry eyelashes into the bosom of snares! Mirrors, mirrors: and water on uneven walls, Along the invisible strings of the curtains to the pouring rain, And below, under the luxury of dirt, a stain with a boutonniere And the bride is not wearing white, but something I don’t like! Along the ridge of vertebrae someone's laughter and burning tears, Someone's evil snowstorms and the first Christmas ice, Spring thunderstorms arrived in time for the chilly May, And t
