Not quite comfortable with cartilage
or kink, she kidded with shadows and blanked
into air, blinked as the sunlight sheared off
all her hair. Whose body is this, whose bed?
Upon waking: tight as a tanka and ten
years too young; bathetic and baffled in
torn nightgown; splinter thrust curtly between
shadow and leg. Whose lost body, whose light?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. Such a nice poem, Indigo. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks