Tonight, more than anything, I long for the heat of August, and I’m not speaking of the weather. Because it might be raining or maybe that’s the sound of my heart racing. Or it might be a starry night, or maybe that’s the sparkle in your eyes. Either way, I ache for a time when there was fire in the night and when the rhythm of the song matched our breathing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem