How naive of you my love, your innocent tribe.
A single letter from your pen and you think I cannot find?
I am stupid, misfit, not good enough to adorn your fingers gleam,
But I sniff out the aroma of your reek,
A million miles distinct,
Without touching you,
I have felt you, smelt the drops of your dew,
On your bosom, on your cheeks, on the deeps of your arm pits,
Gleaming on your narrow waist, in the deapths of your navels crest,
And The dew of your honey, it smells of my musk,
The husk of my mad manly lust,
The lust that turned to earthy must,
To be with your bosom as you breathe your hush.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem