Come softly if you please
wake me from this edgy age
my hands hold tenderly,
the lava of passion burns surely
his marks imprints in my soul
take completely of me everything
and when the sun rears his graceful head
let's bask in the glory the dusk brings
of stars, of past dreams, of illusions, of deceptive but beguiling smiles
so I will wear your touch like the lingering aftertaste of honey
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem