She never spells it out
When she falls in love
As she cannot spill it out.
You have to smell it out.
She likes your advance
Without being in advance.
The silence is a license.
She impersonates a sleep walker.
When she does so you slip with her.
Her moves are tacit.
Pretext is her whip.
Handle her; you will conquer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem