A rocketship launches from my throat
Feel the wine at the tip of that flower
A smile exits these lungs
And unexpectedly lands next to you
Times are hard like your head
It turned you to a grandfather clock
I, A worn-out checkered blanket
We won’t lie: we’re not okay
The waves of fabricating seas
Promise us the best of sketches
But we just wish for this to over
Toss the door, let us into space
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem