to write your lips as they bite the glass
rims standing even and the drink it's been
made of sweet and bitter
rivers lakes and oceans
spilling drops of blue
to dwell on your eyelashes
eyes closed quiver fear
to stand on the fingertips
and to read the lines
broken palms of hands
geometry divinity
grasped in human kind
©Miroslava Odalović
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem