Poetry is my love,
Song is she
Music her eyes,
laughing ballets
Glancing brilliance
smiling night.
She twines round my soul/self/psyche
Venus she becomes.
Love herself
do I lie with
unclothed,
enclothed in finger flames
What may I
dull tone-deaf prose
to her eternal rhythms be?
Only a poor heart,
struggling to speak my love,
Who is purest poetry.
written 10/22/80
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem