From solid to misty ether
But not exceedingly liquid
The process of a transition
Is innocent though titillating.
At times it can be more sinister
In the outward expression
Of our repressions.
It's nothing we can lip or drink
Yet it clumps in our throats
Becomes Kama Sutra
Raising a feral Kundalini
By hand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem