isn't it erie..
the look of love
taken for a fortnight
your crooked smile
became a lonely stoney stare
I can touch you
and give you all
but what I loved
I loved because
of the standards
you wove
only to find it
was no more than
than a fall field
and momentary visits
in my midnight dreams
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem