Outside my window
The shadows and the footsteps
All belong to you
And the bed I lie on
Is a warm, wide ocean
Of wrinkled, devasated sheets.
And in the morning, even now,
When the kettle shrieks
It's your voice.
EVERYTHING turns into you.
The phone lies motionless
And you bat your lashes
EVERYTHING turns into you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem