She loses patience quick
As my fingers trace
The sanctity of her bosom
She bites her nails
Keeps lips tightly closed
Taking away eyes from
My passionate stare and
Moans as a mature slave
That confronts the truth
With a whip of passion
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
well are u still in the youth of love o poet hankering for more lovers daily well love one and rely on your own destiny many come for a while only
Enjoying love in this monsoon. Thanks.