'It is a fine seasoning for joy to think of those we love.'
Moliere (1622-1673)
without you
everything tastes
bland
my taste buds
are dead
i only have to think
of you
to savor the sweetest
taste of honey
i still love you
despite the death
of love
inside me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem