when she makes love with him
she always takes a good look at the ceiling
as though she and the ceiling are in love
at the height of his muscular frenzy
feasting on her flesh
she is asking help from her imagination
she is not in love anymore
she detests this obligation
the walls are wordless of course
and the bed squeaks in pity
when he is finished she turns her body to the other side.
death whispers its name. Death is too inviting.
she travels far into the distant fantasy land of her imagination.
her prince is now waiting in the castle of her dreams.
a beautiful write let her fantasy come true..........fine write.............
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sympathetic portrayal of a reality.