|
|
||
|
You say, my hankering is nothing like a truly love: my love is just a spike of noradrenaline and dopamine. My dear, this is true. Unlike your soul, your body meets my vision of a beauty: the shoulders made of ivory, a cutie unblown pair of dahlias, a mole on forest's edge, the forest down yonder in which my ghost of kisses loves to wander around, every upland, every hole. Apparently, you'll find this poem bawdy. It can't be helped: I love your lovely body, your ugly soul is living wherein. * См. перевод в комментарии 1. |
|