His hands, my breath,
my shoulders
against his.
Knowing fingers
run over my spine,
a neverending kiss,
to live.
His protecting embrace,
upon me descends,
a warm cloak,
a shelter,
my head rests on his chest.
I'd surrender the world
for such desire, again.
But the shinning night,
sweetly, reminds to me:
'stop dreaming,
he's not there.'
La Finita
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem