Love, such an abstract thing.
Spread across a canvas.
Made seen by the help of brush bristles.
A vivid depiction of clear bottles made a mess.
I hope your not afraid of painting with dirty hands.
The feel of paint staining clean hands.
Here.
No one is innocent.
Not even the canvas which is neither seen nor heard
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem