As for her.
Those most remarkable breasts.
Breasts on this body of bodies.
Terra gotta, and as for those poor married stupid men,
talking the moon walking, blond tall, handshaker.
Because of this storm the other woman nearby,
packed up their pears, cherries dim skies and hurried away.
Bulging out yet restricted.
Entering her space,
meant standing a good foot because.
All of the horses stopped.
Many of their wives disapproved.
The Approval of we, speaking would stand.
Moving away the storm went and sat down, warmed securely.
Then came torrential rains, shorts to our forms,
back and forth by her door, hers was the flying fish which leaps.
Would I should kiss such a rainy day, her comings and goings did make. And it continued to pour even after the sun, reappeared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem