Gentle softness of apricots grace my legs
As sugar glues my hair like a whisk of eggs
Laying a net through the waters of French grey
The lull of sleep calls from each cerise sway
Mirror of mine showing peace with spindlelegs
The white ceiling gleaming into a white stray
Is it sweetenend peace or have i found the dregs
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem