poetry had always been
between your legs
you feel it
only that you do not
speak about it,
perhaps it was the fear
that worked most in your lifetime
a lifetime perhaps,
a lifetime sentence that has not earned a
period for itself,
one day you will find poetry between the
cleavage of your breasts,
supple
firm
and so juicy and you wish a man comes by and notices it
and wish that he will feel how is it to be
bountiful,
ripe,
luscious,
perhaps he will take heed
and eat, and suck and
lick
and say that this is what a lifetime is all about
and finally
take for himself
that poem of yours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem