Why do you desist?
When I know you want to be, kissed
This-isn't-a game of stick or twist
Don't you want to know what you've missed?
Darling, the hair on the back of my arms, is raised
It's pricking my soul
Because I know
We've already mingled and left the ground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem