drunk and sluring
our voices be heard
the plots always stirring
as were higher than birds.
swishers in our lungs
busch in our throats
it dries up our tongues
as we drown like old boats
the nights almost through
as poetry we write
but im so drunk i slew
as i bid you goodnight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem