difficult, for the strands on the back of my neck to
stand up.
make it hard for me not to erupt.
keep me touring with infrequent stop signs
surprise me with your taunting green lights.
Hand me your eye lids, half closed
that smirk, half formed
so I sometimes forget to fully wear my
conscience on.
Lag my perceptions of velocity.
Deliver me this daring Notebook story,
as if we meant to be abruptly intimate in such
soaking weather,
as if we meant to let our sanities run
wild in this burning field of towering sunflowers,
Together.
Hoarse your throat with spontaneous serenades
muscles interrupted from tugging on those everlasting
pieces of unbridled laughters.
Callous my fingers on fresh guitar strings
Go ahead, peruse Sexy's artist's liberty.
I can be intensely content with the canvas
your bittersweet brush strokes, they timidly,
regardlessly,
validate this changing world for me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem