In storm or calm, all that has been
Of my Past's accumulating
Lies here upon these shores washed up;
Like this; loathed; elated in.
Slimy green, whose stench, regretfully
Breathes lust's hipped entanglements.
Or what shines through shell's lovely gloss
For love-blushed compliments.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem