drifting through
dream orchards from which
red apples are stolen
juice streaming down my chin
eating around the bruised parts
of the warm apple's skin
my sticky lips covered
(slowly, suddenly)
with an eager young mouth
not my own.
(spring 2006)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
hey brother if you try hard enough you can publish a thousand poems in just a few days, , , that is blake times rimbaud times snyder times andrade times neruda times incorvaia, , it is up to you to maybe.....revise, , , so you are no as prolific as at least a couple of the greats