His fingers are cold and damp,
Like tentacles with suckers on them
And like tentacles his arms are strong.
His eyes are cold and hard,
Like ice cubes, solid in his head
And like ice you cannot hold them long.
His lips are cold and clammy,
Like slugs, crawling on my neck
And like slugs they leave a trail of slime.
Sticky, it clings on...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem