you have deprived
yourself of the rawness
of pleasure
one which has no shade
of reason
no shadow of what is
good
or bad, just the feel of
the hand sliding to
a body
with eyes closed without
a prejudice
or molds, or trellis where
vines make
a form of itself
what is happening to you?
sad man, bathed in the
melancholy of your
indecision....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem