god this is strange thinking back on your face
all of the flowers and letters and lace
cutting a pill with a dull butter knife
sedating the kitchen is all the more rife
I started searching to find what I've found
and all that I'm worth is far less than profound
intolerably drunk and romantically spent
too tired to sleep; too awake to repent
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, that was strong. Great work.