Fall (v)

Iryna Kompanets

I’m quivering on the horizon, feigning sleep, my tolerance is at its limit. Hard rock or the wet marshes?

 

In the twilight, some things have to be held close. But a kiss is enough in daylight.

 

 

Let me whisper to you, a secret so old, it’s new again.

 

 

 

 

Get ready to break the yolk, 15,000 at a time.

 

 

 

 

Behold the power of anti-climax.

This is what I call dramatic turbulence.

 

We burn gardens to keep clean the mirrors we have in them.

 

 

A frosted wedding-cake world, covered by a green blanket of kaleidoscopic lights.

 

 

 

The groan of a picture, murmuring an apology. I’m sorry for the blurry mess.

 

 

 

You’re constantly balancing on the edge of a seat, a precipice – that feeling of being just out of reach.