My right arm
is your pillow.
My left arm
thrown like a sash
over your shoulder.
We lie together.
You in a bed
made entirely of me.
I…your cover.
In the dark
a pair of happy smiles
only revealed
as the candle blossoms
throwing light
around like laughter
not caring that
we have no furniture.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Who needs a bed...when love is the pillow, the matress and the cover?