you go into the details of the leaf
all parts of it
the map of its veins
the inner part
the beauty of something that goes
molecular
that goes viral
until then green becomes a space
and space becomes
its utmost form of
universal nothingness.
x x x
for love is but some details too
those fingers that caress your hundred locks of hair
the layers of the lips that touch yours
the chambers of the heart
that serve as house for the restlessness of
youth,
16 years old meets 15 years
on the grass
that cold evening under the moon
full of memories
that now refrains itself from being
told
how are these wounds doing to you?
those healing years
and the homecoming
that smile which says, ' oh my God, was it I really? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem