A retrograde flow
of subtlety. The
letters have gone out of shape.
Can you read the
fog, when night stalls
the moon?
How do I express
my agony, this huge precipice
of denials?
Love your enemy
was not my cake. A
tender no was enough to subtract.
Suddenly you start
flirting with yourself. After all
you melt in the picture
of fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem