Balloons, why do
They burst, like hearts?
Shrivel up, like death?
Or swallow air like
Shadows swallow light?
Or laugh like you
As though choking on bubbles.
I looked at you like
We were in a film. Motorways
And galloping trains.
The sun: an October opal.
A slice of life reflecting
The window-patterns
Onto the ceiling; I lie cold
And drained as they exit and break.
Your eyes: two stones.
And the clouds don't usually
Look that gray
Unless it's going to rain.
Hard, heavy kissing-rain
Driven through by sighs
And other heartache sounds.
The exsasperated drama
Of a fish out of water.
Run it until the water runs clear.
Tired, sleepy, dreamy:
I retire to the birds.
Our chests
Rise and lower like the tides,
Breathing tomorrows oxygen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem