an error is an error
and errors exist for the main reason that
they are meant to be corrected
it takes the eyes of the loving person
to correct the errors
of his beloved
gently and
carefully away from the mob
and the crowd that love
the mockery
of errors corrected in the middle
of the public halls
inside a closed door
i hold your hand
caress your face
and your hair
and kiss you and then tell you
you taste like a rotten apple.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem