I sifted your memory under
so that if the grains of pining loss
are swept in a certain
way by adept crafty dream hands
Your face will appear,
Your apparent face will appear.
Your marble-smooth gray
eyes will emerge
from beneath those grains,
which always irritate
at the most inopportune moments
in another's embrace.
As my longing is at its end,
Almost satisfied in another's flesh,
As I taste smooth flesh it is alien…
Your face is uncloaked,
Flashes in my gaze
And as my new lover's
passion, heated love's reverie
of me inside and without her
is an alien violence
done to your memory;
I grieve in ecstacy.
My longing will remain
A blight on my ethos and eros.
Your eyes, your lips
Your blonde hair,
The contours of your face
will immaculately torture
my moments;
This is everpresent
And you remain.
Give my regards to your husband
be he a phantom
Or figment of your flesh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem