there is nothing more attractive
as a defense of pretense
than a red carnation in the pocket of
my black suit
it is the fire that catches you
and here i am
appearing as your cage of love
you expect more fire in this
you are more beautiful now as you finally taste
ash and feel the powder of burnt
skin.
there is no fire in me
not anymore none anymore
there is only this oblivion
see it and leave me i am bothered no more
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem