we've learned to talk less
with our mouths and more
with our lips, saying volumes more
when yours are
pressed into mine
we're floating here on a
blanket-ship with only grass to
wave adieu, farewell, never come back
nothing but a dent in this wide open field
meanwhile the summer
speeds by our ocean of sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem