waxing mirrors
in the rain,
have i gone insane?
stout, fearsome, mad, and ablaze
he conjures, super-crazed, these nefarious creations
until cool, mellow wells of comfort
bubble out and into a sappy finish
because she sings to me a silent symphony
after our brilliant conversation on love in love
shifted, like a dream
like ice that melts to the warmth,
towards tomorrow's frozen hues.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem