there is a promise of enjoyment
about utility
measured in just a few moments
you have to pay for the intimate hours
and then be silent
no images, nothing about love
nothing about memories to share
and remember
we want it to be brief and
explosive
but we never desire that it should
stick to our skins and bones
another fantasy
another longing for something that folds and
unfolds
for something that opens and then closes
without attachment
i could have grabbed that moment with you
but light is too much
and i am not blinded
i let it go and i am weary
so weary when i arrive again in my room
finding nothing but myself
with its dignity intact
i can sleep soundly now though it is late already
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem