when at dawn women are loved
net curtains are shuddering
with delight stimulated
love is looking out of every cup
the rest of the day smells of joy
of old clocks keeping blurred
images of the immemorial
ritual in the memory
of fulfilling the subsiding fulfilment
with petals of fragrant
flowers and sighing
imprisoned with vases with longing
to wind rapture in green gardens
a second or two more
they will lie down on the bed
of crochet tablecloth
when at dawn women are loved
customs are softening...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful, romantic and Very climatic poem.