you are
rooted to the
fertile fields of
our conversations
you are not
just an imagination
never another
pagination of
my book
a hard cover
with bold letters
that cannot be ignored
by the switching off
of the light
in the room
i want to puke
to take you out
of my system
you are a mass
of growing cells
in my body
you are root
words
an imagination
that is real
a book
a cancer cell
inside my brain
you are killing me
i am dying
you are telling me
this is what love
is all about
it has always been
an old link: love,
death,
love, death.
love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem