I loved to write her stories, although I wasnt good
About our times of passion, about the closeness shared
The sexual thoughts excite me, about her awesome body
Wrapped so tight around me, in such a way she cared
The stories that I wrote, were true inside my head
They made her read with eager, each page a new idea
She told me how she loved to read, my private hidden reader
I'll miss to write these stories, a sudden burst of fear
She told me not to stop, but this would not fair
For me to write about these things, it wouldnt feel just right
I pour my heart onto the page, she told me not to do
To show my love for her no more, how can I win this fight
I cannot write a lie, pretend it isn't us
The story wont seem real, I'd write and tell a lie
So I have stopped these stories, I have no hidden reader
I want my reader back, I want to know but why
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem