Bosomed dear,
A breast
for my pillow.
A lonely traveler
and thus
kind you are.
I like
the wine and
how it tastes
beneath the moon.
Dear, come soon
and
on my head
I
smell of wine.
I swell
it is the
moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
for some reason, the last stanza made me laugh: I swell it is the moon. which one is traveling? and where? something for me to dream about, among 'other things'. bri ;)