only if your lips bleed
when you speak,
and your hand trembles
just a bit.
if your eyes become
wet with longing...
and your heart pounds,
like waves against the shore.
if the wind in your hair
builds a nest,
for the mockingbird
to hatch her young...
and if the truth falls
like a single bead of sweat...
only then,
will we speak of love!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem