She is called Sophia.
No matter how thick her lips
is rouged with wisdom just like her name,
even though her whole life is given to God,
and her passion of feminism is being hidden in her breasts,
she wishes to be a woman in her heart?
Then her skin-deep body would follow.
That’s why she said to ordinary women
that sacred and sexual didn’t hate each other.
If she were a virgin, I would be happy but disappointed.
If she weren’t a virgin, I would be bitter but relieved.
Well, how could I pluck a star?
The only thing I could do is to fly
my kite high up in the sky
toward her bosom
that is yearning for being a woman?
Let her be,
if she looks soaked deep in sorrow.
We are facing each other like this
Listening to the song ‘We are…’,
Immersing own self into each other’s eyes,
And feel the breath from each other’s lips.
You can call it the will of fate
Or you can draw an energetic picture
Called the power of avoidable fate.
This wouldn’t be a temptation from Satan.
I am not a prey worth drooling over.
This wouldn’t be a temptation from God either.
He, such a big being, shouldn’t have put
This kind of dirty and childish snare
For a marginal human being like me.
We can insist that this is a will of God.
Well, would we feel God’s warm mind
That tries to grant my wish that I want to be a flower?
I decide to become a flower for her…
Why she? All right, all right, all right, but
Let’s try to make myself comfortable.
Looks like shy drank my scent as much as she wanted,
But I was being enchanted by her beautiful wings.
After not-so-long time passes,
What will we become?
Lips are for kissing;
The kiss sublimates two mortal’s filthy desire into joy,
and comforts and fills the greed of mouth with love;
the greed that only wants physical food.
The kiss consoles the tongue with warm breath;
the pint-sized tongue that slashes heart with a dagger.
must be closed by other open lips.
The use of lips is just one.
A mouth filled with greed and dagger
has a smell of rotten meat.
Which lips can close the lips of that mouth?
What would I do
with the stinking mouth of the girl
I am about to kiss?
On the first day of September,
I try to think her voice is just like September.
On the second day of September,
I believe my voice would be September to her.
Imprisoned like this in September, the two voices
floating around together at the same time with different hour.
As if they want to be death row inmates
while not waiting for October to come,
become September leaves that are still green
And are hanging just like they will go through December,
As if waiting for November that would never come.
Ah! Her lips might be soaked with September.
On the third day of September,
I cover them softly with my December lips.
In the middle of deep chaos
I smell sweet lips.
Who cares whose lips they are..
as long as they are sweet.
I see the sweet face
at the bottom of the bottomless valley of pain
I feel the fragrance of sweetie.
With a sweet smile
I touch my desire.
I see the destination of men’s passion.
Who cares whose forest it is…
as long as it has a sweet pond.
I find a sweet oasis
which I will pull out
from my sweet dream
to graft onto this bitter world.