the spanish guitar plays
i love the sounds of strings
they are like Russian ballet
dancers
tiptoeing then dropping their
toes on the stage floors
my fingers giggle like excited
seaweeds on a clear sea
my feet are dancing and my mind
is traveling to Barcelona where
some sticky memories were left
and perhaps with this long absence
must have dried on the floor where
we once rubbed our bodies tightly
knit like silk threads in the pillow
of a recently married princess to her prince.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem