Love eludes me my dear.
I've yet to taste its splendor.
I've yet to thrust hard and long into its mound.
And let its wet facade cascades over its fragrant skin.
I sit eerily so wondering about it all day long.
Is it like death in the winter's afternoon, or is it like life in the midst of morn?
O' dear, o' dear...
How foul the lonely man's mind is...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Ofentse Mercy. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.