untrusting permanence,
a cage of (un) becoming.
tormented by
pockets of
lustful kindness.
glossy eyes
disputing hues,
diving deep
in timed
sequences.
losing youth
to
malice,
and dirty-
dirty
laundry.
even
quarters
mean nothing
these days.
there's no time,
for finger tip
immortals.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem