You could hide away
with me
in the early chapters
on the yellow pages
Stale
like the smell of memory,
Painful like the vagueness in
your voice.
Our years missed out on
the succession of moments
that existed,
It's what passes
between us
like static on the line,
what words
cannot heal
what a touch
cannot feel
what we dare
not say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem