Zerkalo

A rose, inked by shadow and thick with incense, moves through darkness the way a wound unlearns its own name,
(...)

frozen forest,
my first silence still walks
barefoot through me,
a breath kneeling in snow,
learning the shape of eternity.

Immortelle hums
from the warm hollows of skin,
a dry, golden pulse,
old kisses rising again
in hot sand dunes
where bodies learned to love.

"Le Parfum Du Deuil Tranquille"

A waxen hush seeps from old wooden rooms, embalming time in fragrant shadows.