Love is created under the sheets
its in italian rooms, in the corners
but i allways put a cream cake on the table, and a row of candles, some flowers,
i wish i did what you tell me oh wind
love hides in a french restaurant at the edge of the white cliff
love is an aperitif for a bachanal in the midle of the ghetto
love is a survivable comodity, not yet being sold for 3 quid
its what nobility has never kown to white doves singing in green fields next to the warm lake
the lovers bycicles proped up against each other makes you smile
she makes me so happy, regardles of the lenght of a chain
there is love in a chinnese restaurant in hong kong, amongst the chop suey
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
love is love, only love, thanks. good write. I invite you to read my poems and comment.