He knocks at the throbbing amethyst door,
entering the warm darkness of her chamber.
Out on the street
the December wind blows snow flakes wildly.
At home viscous minutes drip from a faucet of life:
drop, drop, one drop at a time.
His wife senses his awkwardness.
She knows.
'An empty fling', he tells her embarrassedly,
'completely meningless'.
She is shocked.
'Nothing is meaningless', she says in a sad voice.
'Lust and pleasure carry meaning. Involvement
always has meaning.'
Flowers of doom burgeon and sprout in her cells.
The demon of divorce winks from a corner.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem