THIS time is am seeing what i
detest
it is about ourselves
those secrets
on one hand we are split like
an apple
one slice always misses the other
saying
without you i am an incomplete
apple
we fuse again and think that we do not
pretend
an apple hanging upon a branch
as though it is part
of it
and will never fall again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem