The girl with waltz-blue eyes
bewilders my breath,
braces me mute:
she puffs, my frisky student,
slow feelings into
pinwheels
while in her wheat-blonde hair
my fingers tease
eager curls.
Even as after-taste
she tingles in my blood
like peppermint.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The waltz is hormonal.