</>i'm counting the days that are free.
they're only ways i 've chosen to flee..
i decide that i have no time to seek
as if i had no eyes to see.
so that i'm given an excuse
to sit still,
accepting my weird deeds..
awaiting my coffee.
the first cup is bitter and
the second gets better.
better means a spoonful of sweetness
the first sip is bitsy,
yet enough to make me moody
the nth sip is sweet,
but too much for me to bear.
and too long for me to be thirsty for.
one love is already a torture,
why come next?
the 2nd love is another load of pressure..
sugar makes it bitterer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem