The curvature of your lips, like those
of the spine with electric touches,
Confidence, released woes,
Gives in radiation as much as
It receives in initiation.
The slip of a genuine joy is a littoral
Boundary between your inner and outer
Hearts, macaronic in its exclamations,
an alembic to my sham cordate organ:
It is as much mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem