We made love with convincing power.
No more, delicate flower.
Dainty, of a scent of innocence.
We came to present as diplomatic.
As one should make sense for hiding frantic,
touches that would have been too hast and thorny in apprehension.
But discovery of those masses of inhibitions.
We quicken to avoid the time, so anxious.
Summer bedding of Impatiens.
Just ripped to the blossom from a slight touch.
We will not wait to see; let's keep this hush hushed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem