I crawl back into myself
before dawn
the flesh of me in the corner
below the covers...
the ones that made me
Queen of Sheba.
where I posed
with all the finesse of Cleopatra,
and the fury of Bach
until the cd
sounded a final note...
and the room fell silent
except for breathing.
This is not living
this is dreaming
then collapsing
into your absence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the reference to Egypt here Very nice- Namaste Peter