I do not try to trap you inside me,
To measure your tears and pluck
The value of your love out of our time.
This burning thread that weaves my skin
And your body and our night into one
Blanket of famous regret.
I do not try. I do not try.
And I do not laugh at what you call nostalgia.
But I cannot grieve at the sound of a glass fist
Breaking inside your chest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This makes me think of the line 'I have given you all of me while you have only given me sorrow.' A sadness well stated.