Uncovering your breasts
and waist,
you become half-eaten.
Disaffection
fathere a child.
The intimacy was
false. There were anger and theatrics.
The paternity suit falls
flat. The boundaries between
underthings are torn.
Painting the self-portrait
I had made a cut on my face
for you to bleed.
With a flick of hand
you wipe out the whole future.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sir nicely you carved in this poem nice