Seared.
Sore.
My brain, that is!
Thinking so damn hard;
my shocked jaw still so low,
makes the Grand Canyon look
like a puddle!
Why do I have only some
of the answers?
I forge ahead not
to feel you knotted still
in me.
Seared.
Sore with thinking no thought
can explain
my heart's rummages
for the quickest forgetting.
How I loved us so.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem