when we were
making love out of butterflies
cutting the sky paper into the kites
that perfectly shaped the circle of each flight
introduced to our friends to walkers in the fields
gave them hats and shoes to walk another line
pushing the horizons a little bit further
just because you said 'it's fine
it's much better this way' and we laughed
open handed laughs for open minded hearts
summoned under the eaves of that night
we grew like truths mirrored by its lie
nothing was difficult, was it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem