Drinking champagne from between your lips
After mornings in the sun
The summer my mother died
Later, we would lay in my single bed,
you asleep
My shoulder your pillow
And I, awake
Listen to bits of the songs
Playing on the car radios from outside my bedroom window
It's where I learned to be patient
On Sunday afternoons
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem