Because she tastes like cigrettes.
And she smells like tangerines.
She stares up at the night sky.
Stars shining brightly,
or dully, it may seem.
With the endless light from the city
smashing up our feelings.
But she.
Still tastes like smoke
from a long forgotten fire.
And she.
Still smells like exotic fruit.
And she.
Ignores the city lights.
She still stares
up
at the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem