Sometimes, I question myself;
What if I were to have you
And no one else?
Would we hold true,
Would those years on the shelf
Turn your taste to sweet fruit
To be drunk in gulps?
It is only when passion has knelt
That I comprehend the ruse;
You're an image, begging for forgiveness,
Utterly confused,
And that I may be to you—
That I may be to you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem