and here's the thing...
my skin recovers from your hands
a drowned world of myths, maps and tides that have turned
floating wefts of silk and coloured books read after dark
a flourish of birds
flowers frozen in silent ponds
summer in a winter's night
touch
and after touching's glance,
a further tilt in the heart's happenstance
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem