Now that you’re married I find I’m comparing
myself to you all the time.
What kind of a servant have you converted
yourself to now that you’re blind?
I can’t really say that I’m different this way,
I knew that from the start,
why else would I have let you make me sad
if it wouldn’t get to your heart?
In your married bliss I hope that my kiss
buzzes around like a fly
trapped with your lace in an intimate place
you can only deny.
And there I’ll remain like an unsightly stain
of lies upon your tongue –
nothing could persuade me to act as you made me,
I can’t pretend to be that dumb.
On the run I found that the one
I needed wasn’t the one I had,
but to this day I still find a way
to persuade myself that I’m glad
she’s gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem