Just below the curtained window
where the sun bends down to get a glimpse of you
and the smell of hot coffee
mixes with the warmth of your steady breath
as the shades of your eyes
get a little darker than the shadows
that are painting pictures on the walls around you,
and there you are, waiting to be held...and never let go...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem