Smoke
slowly
swirl upward
towards the sky
making shapes like a lonely artist.
I watch the embers of fire in silence
poking my mind
making faces
just like
dreams.
Not
a fire
making light
only smoke moving
with shapes making love inside of me.
I stay calm for only as long as I
watch the movement
feeling guilt
sitting here
stabbing
me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Simply splendid poetry. Your imagery is wonderful leading up to a nice jolt at the end, the stabbing guilt.