Why don't we go
thru the motions
of procreation
without succumbing
to the temptation
Of savoring
our lives
with any predilection
that could be seen
as procrastination?
Bohemic tendencies aside
I'd like to see this slide
deliciously into
whoever's bedside.
Let's just let
the bubbles do their work
and enjoy what we get
in releasing
that electricity
exuded so exuberantly
whenever we are within range
of each other's
auric territory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem