4pm, outside a wine bar
Glasses in hand, the bottle
Half empty - on the glass topped table.
We speak of love -
Love of things we own and care for
Love of ourselves, and each other.
The wine tastes better as time moves on
Blood red and with a different taste
As my eyes focus on you.
Your look comes alive as it
Remembers authors, Anais anin and Diane di Prima,
We talk of their writings
As eroticism rises
We move closer.
The bottle empties slowly,
And then we rise
Hand in hand,
Saying nothing to each other
We walk to our apartment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem