smooth
comes after rough,
not that easily,
time, waves, rage,
tongue and
chopstick, and
moon and skin,
abdomen,
tongue and lips,
too much tongue
tied, tight and
slippery, that
hold of so many
hands,
sliding doors and
candle lit
rooms with aroma
of pepper and
chandeliers above
plaster of Paris
heads, busts, and
strong legs,
i gaze at that
but my true love
is over there,
not really desire
which is much
hidden under those
layers of formal
attires.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem