She took my hands, both this time.
Looked into my eyes. Also both.
Called me by my full name.
And asked:
What is it going to be, my love?
I answered, confused by so much formality:
I don't really know.
What, she said, would your answer be
if you DID know?
Gazing at the precious mounds, right in front
of me, I said:
Yes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem