Loving is hiding deeply within this periodical side of
life, turning aside and letting me sing not into the
world, faking not a thing.
Living only on edges of another eternity, I fall steadily
under the spell of a mysterious spherical entity, touching
interiorly, with a magical spell from another time.
As soon as I take it's essence, make it over, hide and
fake it totally, noticing and putting it to rest beneath
coverlets of another séance.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem