Bottom Halves,
are never like the top halves.
and as i wander into that wall
again and again.
and some times you help me out.
Always you ask me and always i
reply,
i see your lips moving honestly, i do
my Dears,
but nothing is supposed too pop out.
i am disabled by this ring that i wear,
and i do as you did before.
and do you not know this by now.
even half of the bottom that i wear
leaves you more at the top.
and when you push down the bottom
half on me,
it's your top that makes me think.
and the more that i think the more each
half sounds the same my Dears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem