Killing is the cold
My only hope
Your warmth
You're cold-hearted
I know, like the mountain rock
But my fingers too
Are flint stones
Won't summer sear
Winter bite
And rains drench?
You're normal
Just human
Vulnerable to love virus
Susceptible to passion fever...
Take me in...
I'm the anodyne!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem