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the hand of eros
wipes the sweat
from my forehead...
or perhaps it's only the wind
that i have come to know...
the mountains i climbed
now look like foothills....
the tips of my wings charred
and dredged through oil.
the dreams i held,
dreams of flesh and spirit,
now blow like dust
into the darkness of night.
and the taste of blood
now need be nothing more....
the river i felt inside me
poured into your deepest valley,
and lit the blackness
with tiny liquid fireflies.
inside of you, inside of hunger,
pulsing, pulsing... till
the light went out....
by a small fire too wet to burn,
i peed in the sand....
and stood waiting for the waves
to come and wash it away!
the hand of eros... or just the wind!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem