To trace your fingers down my spine,
shall I call it spine-tingling?
To intertwine your limbs with mine,
shall I call that intermingling?
I do not think I shall give it names.
There is no need to do so.
I only need to think on it,
for the pleasure it gives me
is nameless, but priceless.
It cannot exact a fee.
To place the tip of your tongue on me,
shall I call that tongue-ing?
To inhale your breath that's close to me,
shall I call that breathing?
I do not think I shall label it.
And so I shall not try.
I only need to think on it
for the thoughts tell me why.
It's lableless, but joyous.
It will never, ever die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem