Slow
Slow
As a trickling tap
Drop
After
Drop
The words woven
In the oven of the brain
The alembic of
Rattling emotions and
Heaving breasts
The drops continue
In the dark of night
More of mystery
Pendulums
That stately stride
Clocks
Of cathedrals noble
That
Strike drop by
Drop
Across the taut and
Asphyxiated
Mouth of the night winds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem