Many blurred glasses cover eyes,
And the eyes don't see the world...
We are just lost in that deep blurriness...
But, Oftentimes our lustrous hearts beat
To have a distant flesh with full of wetness,
For the distant softness love us bitterly?
What blurriness would withstand our eyes
To seize the flesh, to measure the attractions?
What pride we have to rape the flesh Through our lustrously waiting mechanisms?
We play with bloods, wetness and softness
And yet not die out of infection?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem