I said I'll sing a song
For every shooting star
That passes through the midnight sky
Whilst you and I are apart.
(Looks like i'll be singing all night long) .
My conscience knows no freedom;
Barely breathing
With corset-tight windpipes
Choking me,
Stifling me.
Twisting and turning in your yard
With your cardigan
Halfway down your back,
And your hair glistening in the noonday sun,
Oh, what a joy
This type of living is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem