Apart From Me Poem by Maria Barbara Korynt

in the garden around in circles
the night-scented stock smells
but there is a intense aromat!
into our nostrils it is flowing
or it is annoying
and impelling me to sneeze

here the sun sets hours
the clock is solar
on the visible place
his stick is casting a shadow
and we already have the great
commotion in the anthill

the juice in my glass from
the lemon, must trigger the opposition
of the lips. you are talking to me
that quickly a red rose will bloom
she is leaved and has buds I am pleased
because I am waiting for flowers

You are warm, now.
turning your face to the sun.
I am looking at you
and I am thinking
whether you can still notice
somebody...apart from me