When his hand lays upon me,
All I ever can see
Is the memory of he
Who really had me.
A ghost of my past
But forever more the last
man who would know
How to woo me
Fast
His eyes entranced by curvature,
His hands into my skin lightly drew
Our names from the dew of sweat
From my back, wept.
Between two mountains ascending
The spring brought new flowers
And they came to me, sweet coming
As they grew strong
Within the valley.
And when the walls of the
Majestic mountains tightened
With exhilarance, how the coming came
Sweet songs loudly
Serenading all life itself
But I have not him
He’s just who I see
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem..... Lovely, more especially the 2nd stanza and last 2lines