A coil of
curly hair
trapped in the soap
it’s redness
startling against the white
I excavate it
careful not to disturb it
leave it
a bed of soap
to lie upon
frame it
(nothing else)
just this in a glass box
label it:
“You at 2 am.! ”
The past of all
two minutes ago”
I foolishly loving
this fossil
of you.
I shouldn't be liking this but I do. Why is that? I guess it's because everything you write is dipped in ink from the well of your heart.... HG: -) xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the combination 'foolishing - fossil' here - hair in the soap - almost the like hair in the soup, but you make it seem so lovely