It was a delusion
To think I could deflower you
I failed to decipher the debris
That we blindly scattered
It was a dubious attempt on my part
There was no need to dawdle
With the delicacy of the decadence
I made it a debauchery of epic proportions
Unable to defuse such a dolorous ambition
Like a despot lacking any devoir
I failed to demarcate the obvious
Of what I wish of this desiccate romance
How do I navigate from becoming demur
And not denigrate with depravity
To someone so debonair
I think I’ll just die
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem