waking at this half-lit hour you lapse
into the incredulous body
of early morning, cool with languor
& stillness
there is soon
the retreat into half-dream, your
semi-permanent shell following
the journeys of waking
with gradual daring
in this striated orb
your suddenly immodest body
is drawn to another: gravitates
towards the plane of his moving
in an almost collision of the senses
such precision now in the casual
singe of skins brushing
together with devastation when
the new morning splinters
open like surrender
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem