I love my wife, but I have never loved her
the way she deserves to be loved.
Nor has she loved me in the same way.
Once, we went to bed together
too tired to do anything but kiss,
which we did with our lips drifting.
But after the first dream, love hungry
for itself, we found ourselves making more
with great desire and the divinity of dark.
Leave me this great imperfect love
in which the body knows to seek
what the heart does not think it needs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem