You are the moist tip of my tongue;
the silent pause in the air
I take in - and the one that breaks out.
You are a selfless act in the river of my blood,
taking this tossed-about spirit,
and folding it gently against your breast,
I am warmed, safe and believing
inside the comfort
of your brown leather jacket.
(2003)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem