Wild desire, roaming free
along the range it's strange
encompassing effect, tells me
this must be love…
This hobby, these papers
inscribed in modern day
hieroglyph: poesis.
Words of love flow freely, then
they ask me, who are they for?
I say they're for the paper that takes them
and they're nothing more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem