Your are the beat that my heart skipped.
You cause my ventricles to pump
my blood into my brain, which is the crypt
you enter speeding past my bump.
My pulse reflects the action of my heart,
and I have no intention to complain
how you have made it stop and start
irregularly, for I blame my brain.
1/6/06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yes, it's funny how often we don't notice the heart at all, down there just doing it's job, until something excites us and suddenly we feel this magnificent drummer has taken up residence in our chests (hopefully in a good way) .