The rose hangs in the air,
in the balance of probability
bleeding beauty gently
into its surroundings,
and whoever loved
that loved not at first sight?
Stemless, its petals fold back
and I want to climb into its womb
and dissolve in its softness,
forget the world while hovering
in the sky with no visible means
of support.
There is a dropp on the petal's lip
and my cheeks are wet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem