I had this image of you
that you painted yourself
that I completed with my imagination
and a golden frame
my fondest memories
of events yet to happen
were in this image
that was supposed to be you
now we have met and at second glance
it is a picture of a too sunny coast
a painting with cracked vernis
and the frame is now falling apart
since I am back the image is spitting
green stuff
and I give it a week
till it’s gone altogether
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem