I want to taste the taste
of taste and taste again
the tasted bud down in
the mud of my pin holy wow,
pink satin stain -
that you can disfavour
everything I can smell or see,
makes it quite daunting,
considering there is so many,
I will never know,
and death when it comes,
I hope it relishes
and does not waste,
or rinse away, so quickly!
as what I took upon me,
when I tried to sink
my teeth into meaning,
and all the happy,
inconsequential,
dog biscuits of living.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem