Beneath me, your heart
lay cold against my chest
not from the accumulated chill of night
but from unwanted flesh,
now found too icy to warm it.
Almost bitterly palatable
the faint acrid hint of almost gone
hangs between us.
Drinking you in for the last time,
I told myself, without believing
that the taste of love dead
was just my imagination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
aww...this feeling of 'almost gone'...leaves 1 confused n dejected...