Our distance is getter farther
like an old weary boat departing from the ruined port of
Neither/Nor
to a journey that will take it
ten years
or even more,
the irony is that
we still sleep together in the same
water
bed our butts meeting sometimes
and toes
slowly crawling like ants back to
their hill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem