In the Gothic cathedrals
painfully jutting through the air,
I am reminded of your soul,
which exists to me so painfully
as it is a disease that lingers
in the air around me
and effects the central nervous system.
Though your soul is hours from me
I can feel it's existence on Earth
like I feel the existence of a God,
which watches and devises,
though tending to be more malicious
in intentions and more sensual
than any god I know.
At night your soul seems amplified
as to scare the weak hearted,
and to entrance my lonesomeness,
and fill the void of the dark
which surrounds my bed.
In cold metallic surfaces,
in bronze statues eternally glaring,
and empty of the living blood
they emulate,
I am reminded of you,
and I see what you may look like,
if only we are what is inside.
I see you and
my senses are heightened
and overwhelmed by
seemingly nothing physical at all.
In the summer I long for the cold,
where I can crack ice and crawl inside,
and feel you totally at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem