I already know you don't love me,
My Love.
But,
Your taste,
The petals of your lips
Pressed against mine,
Still lingers.
I remember how you crept
Up my side,
Most beauteous bloom.
Your smell still intoxicates,
Your barbed tendrils still hold my heart hostage.
I remember your touch,
Like a bed of roses.
I remember your words,
That cut like the thorns beneath.
I remember every sensation!
All too dear,
Impossible to let go.
The pain of fond memories.
Sweet tragedy.
Not a second would I trade away.
So though you may not love me,
Know this:
I do not need you to love me,
But just to let me love you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One-way loving, enjoying 'the pain of fond memories. Sweet tragedy.' Good.