as i arrive you go away
in an instant
saying bye
i got to go, i have a date on the island
somewhere
distant, so distant from you
you left a note telling me my erotic poems
are mean
and not exciting and not turning you on
like a woman should be
reading about sex, sympathy, some tea and company
some smoke
making love to the red curtains
some hard liquor
to make your breast stiff
and
a fighter, like the way how hard i turn on
you
and like the way my hands go wild and smash
the softness of your thoughts
you leave and heave an ending sigh
your signature
of
i hate you, i hate you, i hate you
perhaps even promising not to read
any poem
of mine anymore, anywhere, anytime
i understand,
the poems are mean, they are not meant for you
they long for someone
somewhere and her name lingers still
in my arm like a rose tattoo
there is a thorn there
always and some drops of blood
dried
now, more like some drawings, mere drawings of my youth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem