The bunny hill lift to Heaven
is closed not on account of
the lack of snow or end of season
but because of the absence
of patrons who rather fancy their faulty
spiritual aspirations to sizzle
in the passion of Satan's
flaming Spring embraces. Meanwhile
this young woman settles
for copulating nimbostratus virga
and sanctifying romanticism
above carnal feasting.
Recoiling, rising from my tomb,
I roll away the stone and skillfully
reach for her divine fault.
~~~
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem