if you only cared
as i do, you could have
appreciated
my little pretenses
they are not the usual
inconveniences
they are the tickles
the taste of pickles
the scent of ripeness
the smoothness
of love
what delights us
we must say
no matter what
reality that hurts
what use?
time is too short
for truths that kill us
time lies within
our own points of view
now, ride in fantasy
come with me
for i am yours
this is pretense
this is happiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem