I'm guilt-ridden, more yet,
conscience-stricken
They touched me,
yet not out of respect,
exuding their pleasure upon me,
and yet I could not resist,
I detest myself that I could not desist.
Me and my fatuity.
...I'm sorry because I crushed you,
ruined you, and I guess never really had you.
But if it would me,
I don't want a rank
beneath my nose, but that
rich, sweet, cuddly scent.
That beautiful scent of nature
I would not want to eradicate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem