I lost her on sycamore grove
Where I loved her to myself
Without hesitation or perfection
Selflessly and imperfectly yearning
For the day when she’d return
Without the color she’d left with
Here, in this intersection, this crossing
I kiss in the wind and hope impatiently
To set eyes on her…without, within
The walls of madness, sadness it is without
The scent of her walking past
The curve of her cheeks fading for a smile
Palm to Palm, Lips to hands
I fall only along the streets
Where faded quick steps once danced
Without the folly of song or date
I stand helplessly for chance or fate
I loved her on sycamore grove
Where I lost myself to her
Without meditation or touch
Faithfully and perfectly giving
For the day, night and hour not to change
Without the warmth of a kiss to part with..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem