When I touch your hand
from the paper, the words
move without sequence
and rush becomes a tempo
My heart flies one more time
as if the flight of Spring is
marching in the warmth
Wake up, I say outloud
for I am not young
to remember the feelings
and thoughts
the way parts of life - ups
downs, in betweens, stops,
all of it comes back. Listen.
I have listened to what time
tells me, and now, you.
Do not worry. I could never
love you.
This stare is not for you
or the adventure of being
you, but for all the lost
time, the last thoughts
before sleep, regrets,
wishes, wantings
the ending of an orgasm
Think of me as a focus
touching your heart
like the smoothness
of marble filling my aware
Cold, yet beautiful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem