Start.
Start dripping in your black rains.
Your shroud is cold.
The dance of the gruesome too
Has lust in it
The flame of life
Music begins to play
And in it life will
Stay.
As in a budding flower
At sweet Dawn opening
Her sensual mouth
So and thus
You lie in the petals, tiny,
Ever-changing, ever-transforming beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem