I am lust.
I am your wandering eyes,
your wandering arms,
your open legs and open fly.
I am gluttony.
I am your full grumbling stomach and the last piece of pie,
steaming on the table.
I am greed.
I am the gold on the ground you will
pick up and pocket when no is watching.
I am sloth.
I am the extra time in temple of dreams
where you crave comfort so creatively.
I am Anger.
I am your fighting fists and your pounding paws
and the inch of steel you conceal in your pocket.
I am Envy.
I am your wanting ways and your jealous days
when the story read out is better than yours.
I am Pride.
I am when you do so well but never tell,
though your smugness is smeared on the opposite wall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem