Sooner we shall forget
that taste of sweetness
take a look at that
oil that sleeps upon a
smooth porcelain plate
it is the coldness that
makes some things hard
that makes us surrender
to the nook and we
cover our bodies with
what memory there is
to make us warm
when we are apart when
nothing is heard of
it is the darkness of this
room
the silence of the floor
the stillness of the door
upon a lock that makes life
so secure
that will lull me to sleep
and then the moon sails
pass by my window as i turn
myself off
like a switch of
a table lamp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem