I do not seem to be ours,
of us both.
Oh, and you sniff my breath
like it was a guilty shade.
Yeah, I breathed an air
where birds made love.
Yeah, I drank the water
where fish made love.
Yeah, I fondled the trunks
upon which flowers made love.
Yeah, I ate the clods of soil
into which worms made love.
But I, my darling, I will
find, I will find, will find
an empty place,
a place emptier than void itself,
where no one has never,
ever made love.
Into my fancy I'll find
the place, there, in fancy,
there we shall go, the place
where no stranger ever
knew love.
Translator: Vasile Andreica
see more poems written by: Nichita Stănescu
