My love is like a pregnancy,
it needs to be carried
through all 9 months of quiesieness
and thoughts,
so nurtured it grows
and I swell with it,
and variably glow
as all new lovers do,
it needs to be fed and loved and nurtured,
it needs the uncertainty of the first born,
in deep swallows,
it needs the fear of good parents
and the newness of freshly painted rooms,
and brand new things that are just for it,
like baby showers and
lovers laments
and the utter uncontrollable changing of two bodies,
and if it gets all that,
mabey it will give birth to itself
naturaly and without force,
so we do not need to slap it,
to feel its breath or here its cries....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem