Sharp is the knife of feeling.
Pricks the point of the tongue.
The bubble through the sun.
Hanging over then under the moon.
I like you depend on those eyes to see.
A guide to where I love, live and play.
Basking twinkling muzzled in sparks.
Dark black holes and white showers.
Repeat this present elegance,
on past tense metaphoric table.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem