Warm, cool air
Wafting over us.
Who's forms should ne'er touch
Wasting away from pure joy
We forget yesterday's stripes
We forget the coming light
We forget all but the sound
Writhing from our chests
Willingly I forfeit life
Willingly embracing,
flirting with every shadowy pilgrim
Who cross my stride
Was there a time before us?
I think not, for now it's corpse try's to attack
in spite of our naivety
Rolling with the tide
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem