Your face is a portrait of one,
The portrait marks the sound of your voice
then your hands.
I feel sensational beauty on the scratches of my eyes,
I see you, but can't need you,
I can't sense you.
Two frames is what I'm asking;
Three eyes on each portrait for the next,
Forearms on my knees,
Below laying four hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem