In the winter
I always leave my car
next to her's
just to see her footprints
in the snow,
and pretend to be
somewhere else
where
she knows what I feel
where
my lips
always find their way
to her lips
where
I do not need to write
about her,
In the winter
I always leave my footprints
next to her's,
and think about
all the ways we never tried to make love,
and all the envelopes
that sleep
under my bed,
sealed with the aroma of her tongue
and how much
I have kissed them in my sleep
in the past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is short and powerful. Thanks.