we knew him from the
start
the way he carries his
hands
the way he caresses his
own hair
and we knew her too
the way she sits on the floor
the way she cuts the flower
from her garden
the way she sips her red wine
from the slender glass
and so we drink and drink till
morning
and we get so drunk that we
forget ourselves
and that all these are all about
us.
upon that hangover
we leave making a pass for what
could have been a wholesome
breakfast.
tonight when the moon comes
back
when everything is peaceful
and calm
we shall write about what could
have been much better.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem