When the days action is done,
Right or wrong, and evening,
Like a friend, comes lying next to me
In lusty form...
Like a much longed for lover
I am still lovelorn for.
When everyman’s subconscious wish
Is to be, once again, the child, swaddled
In bath towels, I embrace my limbs...
Wrist bone to cheek;
It is my sex that feigns to be of another
As I snugly pull the covers over.
And as water, which seeks its own level,
Abides in such little, tide pools
of a dry riverbed,
It is you the moon reflects,
as a moist, pooling nude,
I make thirsty love to, then,
Enfolding myself in my arms...
Sweetly, delude myself to sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem