Drinking champagne from between your lips 
After mornings in the sun 
The summer my mother died 
Later, we would lay in my single bed, 
you asleep 
My shoulder your pillow 
And I, awake 
Listen to bits of the songs 
Playing on the car radios from outside my bedroom window 
It's where I learned to be patient 
On Sunday afternoons                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    