She acted like her vagina was
made of gold.
And
that my heart was to be
bought and sold.
And
that I would bow to
that wet alter and
sell my soul.
She was
wrong though—it's not
for sale;
not for any price;
not even if her
vagina were made of
gold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem