Your ways, sometimes unkind, always loved wildly.
Spontaneously, as you did everything, you loved me.
A flame inside you burned and we were driven to it.
I was happy for the wild passion that I needed and
You owned me - this I could not share with - you!
We rode on a storm each night.
Glad to be frightened in your arms I felt the
rages boiling inside me.
I felt you grow and our flesh was beating fast
United as we watched each others eyes our
nights and mornings were filled with us.
Slowly it became an art fleeting away
It was not the light we lit long ago.
Dearest lovers do become prisoners.
Our lives seemed to march on.
You went back to your painting and I -
well I was lost in what seemed a special dream
What does a heart do?
I loved again but it was not you!
It helped me get through the bivouac of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem