Ambient lighting like a soft illusion
Sometimes silence is music
Night like a smug blanket
Poetry comes out of cemeteries
Crawls out of alleys
Elves are cautious little creations
I am waiting for a word from you
A little risqué phrase I can read into
I think you like night too
Can we penetrate the celeste of art?
I think love is an instant awareness
I think plans are fear-locking doors
Moonbeams in the existential haze
Birth is in the soul of my lamp
Baudelaire wrote on Poe
I think my muse is a sex addict
Mars is out like an ancient vibrator
Islands of poetry shiver down my spine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem