I remember
holding your dark hair
softly in my hands
like a rosary
and praying for us both,
our individual ancient sorrows.
On certain cold autumn nights,
I would journey to visit you
down by the river to your small room
where you showed me
your perfect shoulder tattoo
and Christmas guitar.
I don't know
if I could fall in love with you
even if you would allow it;
but I remain lonely
and longing for your eyes
when I'm stranded
in the shadows of evening dusk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tender longing, has a teenage youthful feeling, never feeling good enough. Nice one.