it was the bluntness
of clarity which destroys
the suspense
which we equate with the
beauty of a morning
conversation
as i raise my cup of
coffee
the tongue curls
my hand trembles a
bit
you should have taken
the grace of
some metaphors
last night was not
something that you can
reduce as prose
for i still consider
it as magnificently
poetic
our story lies in the
a coded room
where intimacy as a
must
should be another
rose at the door way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem