A Warm Red Hunger Poem by David Kowalczyk
A Warm Red Hunger
Last night, I dreamt of her
for the first time in over
five years.
Her twilight face appeared,
a face which could neither love me
nor let me go.
The face she wore while
our love slowly withered.
That face grew fainter, and
soon her sunrise face appeared:
joyous, kind, and believing.
The face I first met,
the face I will carry
to my grave.
Last night,
a dormant volcano
in Mexico erupted.
Puke. Your attempts at 'romantic' poems seem to border on juvenalia.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 7:29:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Sophmoric tripe, at best. How very disappointing, especially in light of the other poems in this collection.