Two soft, red illusions
can never claim
a single thorn.
The daily man's fall
can never
be my boiling blood.
The trident holiness
can never claim
a pointed nipple.
The potent flea
can never
be my good pollen.
Two different faces
can never claim
the same angle.
Two simultaneous deaths
can never
be my morning.
The one beyond the blue
is happy in me
as the couple
whom I let live.
The one alive,
in front of me
can never
be a live reality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem