sometimes,
people ask me
who is eileen?
why you write about
love,
and worshiping
eileen?
more often,
i ask myself the same
questions.
who is
eileen
anyway?
is she
a dream
written in my dream by
whoever is,
was,
and still capable?
still,
it does not make
sense,
no sense,
any!
at all?
but,
eileen
is
my ghost
my hands,
my pen,
my ink,
my colors,
my forms,
my ideas,
my beautiful idea,
my little obscure dream.
she is my guide,
my light,
the person,
i could and
i can
talk to
without
the
need for time
and space.
eileen is my nature!
my deep nature!
my bottom
and my head.
my authenticity
my city, and
my town.
she is simply
hot
to me;
you deal with hot
and i hoot!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem