I sleep beside books of poetry
at night,
Nikki,
Sonia,
Maya,
super women, sprouting super thoughts on love and life.
Scattering images across my bed,
decorating my thoughts.
They seem to have replaced those shadowy figures that come and go
like apparitions
or fantasies
not fully formed or developed enough to commit
to a natural design
[husband/protector/lover/provider]
So much so that I am deceived into believing
that man is a conjured thought
like love
or 'happy' ever after.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem