Darkness binds us together
without the honesty of light.
Light, with her bright tongue,
darkness, his blind eye.
In this business of honor,
we can easily love
abundantly with betrayal
holding our breaths
as we swallow
the semen of heretics.
Love is injured in this heat
plagued by veins of war
I trace with my tongue.
So neutrally the sexes fit
as legend would have it-
aftermath, an uncertain victory.
We multiply into an abler
loneliness, eroded by memory
as if blood revealed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a freudian slip of a rubber glove...let me out!