Your eyes, sublime
That beauty, a crime
I'm intoxicated in prime
I don't think, I rhyme
I don't speak, or think
I write, and slowly blink
I move arm, draw ink
Your neck, my soul shrinks
Your dear lips, I feel
My sadness, they peel
My cold heart, you steal
I'm only left with, zeal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem