The impatient fire licks over the horizon
chasing the blanket of darkness
It creeps through the cracks in the shutters
alighting on hollowness
a painting of manufactured love
hung crookedly, concealing a couple,
paired for mere warmth.
Turn back the clock to midnight –
like beasts, they mate,
candlelight the only spark.
And in this vast, empty
the sound of latex splitting.
no star-crossed lovers
yet her body has been granted a gift
No pause to question, the powder-white tablet slips
to extinguish the flame that had begun to burn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem