My darling is cradeled in cotton,
though between empty breaths she's sorry,
for reasons that have stumbled away.
But my darling isn't sad anymore.
It's just tears and tissues on the headrest,
around and around in cold car routes,
my darling's cigarettes and seatbelts,
I'm only thinking of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem