This letter becomes me
and I become it
a stranded Robinson
in the palm of your hand.
Since you are far
I find it only fit
I write to you
in another language
that we both know
and we pretend we are
not us but lovers.
It's the distance
that makes me feel safe,
like you could not hurt me
from over there,
but so badly I wish I could hear
the sound of your pen
as it touches the paper,
it's voice that becomes your voice
and your hand dragging me
into this gentle madness
where I touch your clear shoulders
with my fingertips and find
their softness unsafe for a kiss.
I hold my breath afraid
that I might blow you away.
This would sadden me greatly
but not as much as I find
the corner of your mouth
the perfect place to kiss you
as no more than a friend.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem