I mean the rain you drop in my voice
like a cloth cut by scissors, bridling its mare
and my hand sniggering in lust
though a smell of a banana
in an old part of this city, all alone
in hotel rooms and on brass beds
dirtiest hours of my face
a sartor with winter night face.
Koray Feyiz
(Translated from Turkish by Koray Feyiz)
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
I mean the rain you drop in my voice
like a cloth cut by scissors, bridling its mare
and my hand sniggering in lust
though a smell of a banana
in an old part of this city, all alone
in hotel rooms and on brass beds
dirtiest hours of my face
a sartor with winter night face.
Koray Feyiz
(Translated from Turkish by Koray Feyiz)
