My thumb rolled
across the ridges of your throat
as we sat hidden in the fog:
the thick, opaque breath of the ferns
До свидания, comrade
I have but 15 kopeks to my name
and a belly full of starving
but I would spend every coin
to buy you another drink
How can you lie there
So still
Even the statues shiver
The sky is darker than my grandfather’s uniform
but filled with as much blood
You are so brave
Eyes as beacons against the winter fire
There is no smiling here
You don’t even blink
The concrete is as cold as your skin
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