</>Downing the queer wine is not the first step.
fella, close your eyes, let him
do whatsoever he wants.
the lightning and storms outside trigger more of itself inside my body.
I oughta sketch the lightning to gem my mind..
yet, it's swiftly gone. so
the remaining thin soul of me
can only wait for further hunch
by sitting under a dangerous tree, not
inspired by an apple, but an awful lot of lightning..
The Vulnerable is poetic...
& it's loved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem