If we say it here
in this rat-filled hallway,
will it be the same?
Grease and prints of
forgotten fingers parade down the walls.
If our lips form the words
will they be swallowed up in
shouted curses
and approaching sirens?
Will they splinter and fly-clinging
stickily to the dead
brown ceiling and absorbing the smells and sounds and sadness?
I will say it-at least let me determine
why I will shed tears.
You must say it after me.
Don't wait!
Quickly before it is lost
and swallowed and gone
Quickly-
I love you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem