From whence does the gelid blur
Spring - that I am dazed in such
Melancholia in a frosted autumn?
O, love, if then that you decide
To stop loving me in a dash of
Autumnal rain during midnight,
Then I shall
Love you in the mornings
Where I am quelled
By a crippling void;
I shall forever recount
The tales of these scars that you left
As you claw me with your fingertips,
The tiny, whispering wounds engraved
On my gossamer lips - your saccharine kisses,
The sculpting you have left on my body
The impressions of your arms upon my
Vessel raw with love;
If you are to leave like the cold rain
During the summer's somersaulting breeze,
Where shall I ensconce your wry auguries?
Will I famish over the waters of your sodden joy
While I wake with sullen eyes?
And if you do stop
Loving me as you take with you
All of the stars,
It is the only time that
I will accept an impenetrable soliloquy
That none could pass through.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem