Red;
The vivid sanguine,
Dreary lips of yours.
Blushing to the touch,
That the gentle skin
Is sent to cure.
In sphered in rough pillows,
Suffocating, taking the air
From my scope of choice.
Not in suffering-
Leaking the heart of precious,
And yet unwanted air.
Taking what was once
Mine,
And turning all thy
Breathing air,
To thine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem