The wasp lands on my chest.
I know love comes not a whirlwind
but a quiet whir of the wasp's wings
not knocks the door but melts through it
pierce the skin and reach heartbeat.
I love love's noiseless waspy wing
sweet and bitter sting
its agonizing harvest.
I would never brush it in haste
when lands the wasp on my chest.
Sweet poem! But instead of the wasp's wing, why can't it be the fluffy flake's soft landing? Enjoyed!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks Valsa for the read. Sometimes love stings too.