you finally find
what the other loves
a stone, glossy and golden
but not gold, still with
the warmth of the palm,
smooth to your tongue,
tasking like salt, but it
is not salt, just a stone,
but it is not a stone
completely, it has the
imprint of a recent hold,
not to you but from the
other, still bearing the
scent of recency which you
want to put into eternity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem