no one to drink with -
no one to talk to...
if a man is an island,
i lie undiscovered.
do old men make good lovers?
do you burn old books?
or use them for your pillow?
and the old pair of jeans
you just wont throw away
still feels good on your ass!
tired of reading old newspapers,
i changed the candle by the bed.
swept the floor, took out the trash,
carried the broken branches
to the woods
is that my hand knocking?
or merely a breath of wind
rustling your curtains?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem