Slowly, eye awake
ain’t going to take
no freaking cake
My head is tight,
my neck is stiff.
& I am wondering
now even if
you’ll let me in?
How is your heart?
How is your soul?
Are they really
made of gold?
Maybe of ice,
maybe they’ll melt
Then will love
be even felt.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What an intriguing title. As intriguing as the poem itself. I do like the format also. Read mine – Indebted – Adeline