A hand, casually draped,
over my shoulders while
the others falls below.
You whisper life into my ear,
prodding the snail into movement, prodding
my eyes into stability, looking
down your hot flesh pink flesh throat concave with agony
ecstacy.
Don't talk now, dont waste the magic, not even to
say your sweetness.
Carry on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem