I love when you touch me under the moon, tracing the acne scars on my face and telling me they're beautiful. They're the only thing I have left from my childhood, and they're fading. You point out the first firefly, orbiting the warm world of our sleeping bag like a tiny moon, waning and waxing every few seconds. Time goes by so fast with you. The tides of your eyes are pulled away from me by the wonder of the pulsing satellite that is for some reason drawn to us. In our world within a world, I like to think we're ancient nomads just opening our eyes to an existence we know nothing of. We're speaking elegantly in a primitive language, the caresses of our entwined bodies that we have yet to discover — but we have all summer.
a shooting star
disappears behind
the dark horizon...
I'm no longer afraid
to fall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a nice write with good imagery I noticed you are a young writer. with a lot of talent keep expressing yourself