The pillow never hugs
it lays my head upon
is soft and sure.
Inside the burning bush
it feels,
the heat of passion roar.
and yet your mind I still.
Through out the mist
deny the shore the waves.
The sea is deep
and cool upon the toes.
A pebble tossed against
the boat I will.
The sail with wind is filled
and etched one face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the pillow tries to hug but just mushes into somethin' you cannot get snug just not the same as the real stuff