you see a subtle woman
clothed in her luscious black hair
but you’ve turned her into a child
each time you left that door
and into the dark night
that took you places
where your voice didn’t echo
where you scent disappears
where your shadow fractures
you see a smile upon a fair face
that looks at you with love
but you’ve turned her into a child
each time you said those words
that promised you’d come home
words that were to substitute
the love that kept her breathing
the verses that caressed her skin
the warmth that cradled her to sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So warm and gentle are the waves of your vers libre, Janine…