In the bliss of silence
there is an open window
next to sheets filled with
wine & dried skin
On a table bi-colored from
weathered arms set upon wood
all the memories play bridge
with all directions waiting
to be freed from the shackles
of the pictures just above
the bookshelf Sleep without
tension and make love to remember
why you started talking
to being with
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem