How long have I waned?
And took the fate of oceans
upon my hand.
I make tides faithful
to the shore, yet I am
without love, and one faith
guides my circles, that perhaps
a new night pure enough to unfurl
the virgin wraps of night-blooms
tilled by the violet fingers
of answerless waiting will wake
you up despite the tender cloth
clinging upon your breasts, the soft air
breathed by a garden nearby thru your
open window will choke your pink dreams
of castles hazy at the tip of cliffs,
your prince upon a silver horse galloping
upon the bog, and bring your eyes to me
white with craving, hanged on a fragile noose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem