It was a direct hit,
meeting an immaculate
moon tonight.
Was it possible― that
a star flew off the sky
to undo something?
I was the mist,
and I was the sun.
Describing the accident―
not the truth.
The molester.
Time, steps out taking a big
chunk of life.
Unhinged, a messiah
drops dead―
at the door of equity.
How vain, was the
ego of man!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Is chocolate not itself enough of an object of desire? Why is it wrapped in a shiny, eye-catching layer of precious delay? My lips on your neck, nuzzling where your hair easily makes way, is a delicious nourishment. It is even better than the smell of the gun smoke.