gaping head divided half-thought
half-work of my hands look straight to the eyes looking at you
a ping-pong
existence of wrinkled hands the ball stops
in midspace words attempt a beginning the ten fingers grab
reality the eyes and the nose united in partnership
something fishy and illuminated
the ball is in your hand now
you are in control of your heart keep it your fingernails stuck on the surface of her skins
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem