Love is like a proverb that originated
Somewhere on north Buchanan street.
I sit and get high
On the old man’s smoldering cigarette,
And the sweet smell of stale beer.
I take off my glasses
And focus my blood red eyes.
Taking a deep breath of my sickness
And wondering…
Where love comes from.
And why I fell in love with you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem