I'm not always a fan of poetry - if I actually take time to ponder it
- it can be so irritatingly rhymey, kind of fussy and needlessly intricate.
Compare my love to a summer's day and I'll probably yawn and walk away.
Take a nuanced look at the transactions of sex and consent,
and as adults, we may wonder where the romance went.
You know, it only happens once in a while,
that someone with wit and individual style
comes along with something to say
and scribbles it down in a poem or play.
Here's to the creative visionaries,
to Dickinson's unique and dreamy imagery,
to Shakespear's highly stylized, run-on sentences
that manage to speak to us over the centuries
or challenge our stifled, bourgeoisie banality
like Nabokov's use of stunning vocabulary.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem