there is something
lovely in your slowness
that slow journey of the
lips to the spine
the low tone of the whisper
in the ears
the slow caresses of the fingers
on the hips and thighs
the walls that see all these
becomes alive with all its gladness
the winds say, Oh Lord, Oh Lord,
what is love doing to me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem