A grunt.
A moan.
An exaggerated sound of released compressed air.
Your sweet lips parted,
And I heard your last breath.
Forever in my wildest daydreams I won't forget,
For I don't regret my actions,
But I do regret your blood on my shirt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As if tortured /haunted /tormented by the death of someone very close to him