Listening to a last waltz as this mind lingers upon the past,
remembering the very first kiss when nineteen, it was so un-
expected, never did this poet ever think anyone would kiss
these lips with theirs.
Having always said these lips would never kiss anyone ever,
so when this very first boyfriend did kiss these poetical lips,
this poet cried, feeling so violated.
Nothing else entered this mind, just tears flowing, as he
hugged and held this poet, saying over and over that he was
sorry.
Eventually stopping crying, but was so despondent the rest
of the night, thinking that somehow this poetical being had
done something wrong, wanting to wipe that kiss from these
lips, and photographic memory forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem