Blue-blooded sun at the horizon
Circle of wind
In a crystal flute
Your mellow tone
Lustrous
Origin
Anno
Nazareth
In the stereo-mezzanine floor
Your eyes as shooting stars
Into the desert
Your Scythian tunic
Your peachy lips
In the cool of the pool
You are moonbathing
On a headed notepaper
The curve of your shoulder
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem