It had been so long.
Those fingers.
Those lips.
My skin,
un-tingled without you.
My hair,
un-pricked.
My lips,
un-wet.
Without your taste,
since your absence;
I yearn.
Forty days too long
without you.
My pain,
unthinkable.
How many continents?
How much distance?
Time and travel
inconsequential,
without you;
they don’t exist
like my lips; un-kissed.
They remain untouched
for you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem