YOU WILL HEAR THUNDER.
You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you
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Want to try your hand at poetry? Email me at poeticiapoems@gmail.com
Featured image credits to Sabine lower on Pixabay
