my thudding eyelash sweeps my
tongue clean, so i may laugh
heavingly at each secret smile.
my squinting hands erase my
heart trace from the shoulder
which jiggles menacingly at all
who dares to cross my eyes
most nervously, my nose squinches
and cries and beats at my
feet for a word - any word.
to say why i feel like an
apple polished purple by the
sun when a look specially tickles my teeth.
thank god i am not
lilac-loved and after-crushed for
the pulsating aroma of my
soul
(May 23,1965)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem