Boys cuddling in the pools,
And the moon pulls up and has nothing to prove:
Is as round and embarrassed as a midnighted sun:
Goes around the corners,
Eggs on the run; and it feels alright, stealing on the lips of
Thunderbirded wine:
Why it feels alright straight into picking time, until finally
All the passions are laid low,
The snakes creep through the ditches that someone forgot
To hoe;
And this is the way she comes, like the lights in my heart,
Or like some many things I have forgotten to tell her that
She was to me:
My final rose, and muse: my, alma, sleeping beside me
And making love for only hours in a day:
As if all of a sudden my life turned into a carnival, and I got
To kiss and make my wishes upon her lips,
Until all too suddenly she had to fly again away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem