I first trace your mouth with my thumb.
The velvet lace of skin that finds nourrishment
when layed upon the lips of mine.
Your lips divide, delivering a candied voice
that, anchored in my ears
would rock the ship of fear
when I lay alone at night.
For all those nights when your memory
offered me more pain than pleasure,
and my sweat filled the bed
like a salted ocean wet,
and my dreams saw the lighthouse
go dark and ships
found rocky shoals
to sink to depths.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem