If you were a shore rinsed by murmurous waves,
Mottled with mosaics of sharp stones and seaweed,
Meandering as the curly hair strand shone through by the Sun,
My woman of thousand faces
Is not mine, independently of endless trying on
My thousand masks. She’s dipping her lips
In the black coffee which flushing her beautiful teeth,
And it seemed to him as he had struggled with a dragon of nine heads
In order to free the imprisoned innocent girl from a high tower,
But it turned out that the girl, who wasn’t already innocent,
Only got bored sitting at home, under the supervision of parents,
Women don’t like
Weak men -
Whatever would be said by them,
However they would deceive themselves.
My heavenly pregnancy is already lasting dozens of years
While the human larval stage is being delayed.
Sometimes my shoulders start to itch as if wings would erupt.
I would mightily flap and rise up... Far from it!