It was sunset in winter.
Oyster skies gleamed
beyond the sycamores in the north-west.
I found it in the no-lane
between our shed and the fence next door
and it flabbergasted me,
glair and colloid
to my clammy palm, taste
unimaginable. This thing
was alive, a man o' war.
I had my first wet dream
seven months later.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem