Lips.
How did they become as they are?
Ruby Red.
A heart once open.
Never shut.
Even if blue is as I last left it.
And last night is friday.
Lips before that become again.
Are best suited,
when early in the morning.
And a moan.
Any way the lips that I see through a crack.
Are differant looking lips.
The gloss perhaps.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem