I, too, remember the past, my room lit by candles,
and the night she entered and touched my face
with her face, with mouth and tongue and lips,
in the orchard night, in the odor of fruit,
her breasts — remember, body? — that room,
remember? — our cries, the flickering candles?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem