Let us walk, my king, through
Palace halls, with my hand in
Yours. Warmth. Warmer.
I bring your hand to my lips
with a flutter kiss. Look in my
Eyes.
Let us walk to the garden, then.
Dismiss the servants.
The peaches are ripe now, my
King. Sit. I will bring one to
Your lips
As your body moves into mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem