It runs through it, into one place only you could grow.
It is tied, in you, to you, by you, for you, to shed it's
wicked rushes, that are your thrush.
You cannot walk, without it running into your,
from behind is,
it cheek to cheek, it wears your sent,
to throw the others off your trail.
It is after all, is it not, the most valuable asset it has.
You pull your string, just to tug it in,
back under your skirt of musk.
Your feet are now so full of it, it walks in you, to wake it.
This string your wind in prose, his ring, your nose, it pulls,
you so far into it, your feet must leave the ground.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
.but i like grounded/not feared to fly/flew for a little bit..now just content to be...am i weird?