Sort of blue
Natasha
You may know or may not.
I still have your taste;
Tongue in mouth.
What made you come to me?
Sit on lap, start kiss?
Your dyed hair into red
Reddened face
And those eyes
Not brown, not green
Sort of blue
And softness with the care
You may know and may not
Are here; have remained.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem