Love must find a coffee filter for sleepless nights, caffeine-free
to finally remove every gritty grain that no one else can see.
Love must find an answer to know what's good and sure what is his bittersweet amber nectar.
What is proper and mature?
Love must find a cure for deadpan weekends.
Her countless more tears in-store or else move further apart like bookends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem