the touch of your hand
gently is bringing
recalling the May up.
I am chilling the hot body
above the seashore.
I am catching crests of waves.
too warm water.
ice-cream isn't helping.
I am waiting for rains.
the sunbath
restored colours
of the last summer.
on the empty route,
only a dust and potholes.
you have the dry lips...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem