Your hand isn’t pressed
Upon my trembling own
But I feel a force
It makes my sides ache
Like a cactus parade
Is about to pounce
Upon an unsure ounce
Lurking in my vacant body
It feels like a hot day
But I feel snow balls
Are trapped within
My lace-covered wrists
Funny, it must have intent
This relationship
Is such a danger, a sickness
The laughter chokes me
The fire turns to grey
The wet sink presents
The yellow reflection
From the bland windows
Your eyes open wide
To my moving core
Despite my attempt
To break you inside me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem