So pure this imagined kiss, with your fingers in my hair. But if you knew who I was what would you do with me when the beast arose? And my dark thoughts were circling your eyes pleading for you to read them. What would you do when they bled you dry of pity and compassion to the point of when disgust crawled in? Turn away as I burn the pages of a beast so dark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem