The blood of your sigh spoke through me,
The ink in the stain cried your name;
The longing of love soon immured me-
Immune to the loss or the gain.
The dust of time, it was blowing,
The space of our distance, it craved-
And never, oh love, would the knowing
Of flesh, be forgotten- or tamed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem