Behold my fixation.
My grauitous love.
It could be physical.
Probably chemical
Either way you put it,
Cupid is mental.
She drank with gluttony,
Not just the wine.
But it may have all been just the same.
The glass, my flesh,
The drink, my soul.
And I just wanted to fill a hole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem