On my way on bike,
When I am on a hike,
Many faces I do like.
Slow should be my pace,
Holding tight accelerator's face,
I am the the driver, the base.
In my mind's abacus,
I count the face's flash,
Every beauty hits with a slash.
When this imaginary drive is over,
Ecstasy does my benumbed body cover,
And Platonic pleasures do then hover.
Beauty faces do I like, like a photographer's cushion
Still faces fade away after short lasting impression.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When this imaginary drive is over, Ecstasy does my benumbed body cover, And Platonic pleasures do then hover......love expressed in a very creative way. thank u dear poet for your great power of imagination. tony