I want to be down in the mines of your
Body,
Smelling your back and your front,
Gripping you;
Not even believing in myself, but moaning your
Name like a song bird,
Holding your hips like a kid on the swings:
Maybe you are Michigan and I have just
Run away again,
Pressing against your body like a monolithic
Butterfly,
Smelling your front to back, and visa versa.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'Not even believing in myself, but moaning your Name like a song bird' - these lines are simply stunning, Rob.