Allow me please to get lost in your hair.
I promise you won't even know I am there
Lest you think you might like to play coy,
Then I'll swing from a strand like a casual toy.
If you can, don't let me get lost in your eyes.
Or I'll lock myself in while the world around lies.
Held captive, I might not get where I want
And the lay of the land will tease at and taunt.
For I must scale in time those highest of peaks
Where weighty breaths sound a yodeling speech.
From there I'll come down the mountain with care
Where the stretches of heath lay boundless and bare.
I'll stay for a while on the flattened expanse
Where softer breaths swirl in much plainer dance.
God! Give me consent to your yawning thighs!
Where I'll open that cave with lurid-like sighs!
Then let me please go where no one can pass.
With tongue, like a blade, I'll mow down the grass.
The permission you give to enter your lair
Is heavenly sent and utterly fair
Though some say this is a descension to hell.
The riddle though is if I walked or I fell.
Yet if this is the way, I haven't been told.
All I will say is I've mapped my own road.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
passionate poetry here indeed and the title (the geography of love) is just ideal.