we are sitting vis-à-vis at the oak table
every day. nothing changes
besides seasons outside. it is going
to snow today. your eyes smile.
you like to watch me catching
the snow flakes with my tongue.
how childish.
I’m looking for new words to describe
this day, your reverie, this table.
there are perfect words for me hiding
between the covers.
I am thinking dictionary.
you are thinking bed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem