On a snowy canvas, I splashed her
down with bare, brown, freckled
shoulders. With mirrors everywhere,
she crams both purple fists into a
ball and squeezes them between
the autumn of her thighs.
She looks up at the universe and
her blind eye asks me:
Is it in you?
admire the imagery of the 'autumn of her thighs' wish i had thought of that one
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
... enjoyed reading it nicee....