I sit here, pondering on a daily basis, staring into space or looking out at passing faces,
Of the people passing by my widow-wooded window frame. And not a day passes by,
When I don’t think of the thing I sought, and to my doorstep that very thing you brought,
And for it I desperately and foolishly fought, only to lose you and the love you supply,
So I’m left the wander libidinous, lewd and lusting the thing upon which I rely,
Without your licentious love I will desolately die…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.