it starts as a quiver of
a morning
strands of light carry
the sprouting words
to the bedroom
at night
even in the middle of sleep
words bloom
into flowers
perfume spreading in
the darkness of
my soul
it becomes a habit
a lifestyle
an addiction of the
divine
shedding off
some skin
like
an onion
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem