how can one really stop mumbling
the rhythmic cadence of silent songs
like the humming sound of one who is about
to give birth to a number of amazing ideas,
those words of kindness strumming like guitar
strings in the cold,
those hushing touch of warmth in the strangeness
of your gaze,
the junctions of ecstasy down the alleys of blooming
flowers of desires,
our longings hovering over the pale skins of lonely
women, as children lay over the porches sleepy with
their dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem