Fingertips tracing maps
Hairs standing on edge
Stumbling into passionate
Embraces; A lover's grip
On these tender lines we race
Like the drum beat of
unsteady hearts. As if
time itself depended upon it;
Depended upon us.
Shaping ourselves
Until we are molded into one
Lives tremble past like
Thick, ferocious clouds; unnoticed
But memories are etched
Across the long landscape
Of a mind
Entangled in our love like this;
For what seems an age.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the imagery.