Poetry in Translation

Love Is Not Taught In The Book

By September 5, 2022No Comments

By Kourosh Zandi
Translated by Saghi Ghahraman


His hand

Tosses the pen on the table

His head

Leans back on the headrest of the armchair

His eyes

Are fatigued

Shut off


His chest



His legs

Pass their weariness on to my hands

His thighs

Spread open

Lure me to inhale their fragrance

I inhale

And wonder

What would psychology have anything to do with reasons behind our lovemaking

What would sociology have anything to do with our corresponding bodies

What would the meaning of “He and I” have to do with philosophy

My fingertips

Touch the purple veins on his member, trace along

Like the finger of the blind, feeling his way along the brail

Essence of meaning

Lies in the clear supple drops

Oozing out of the tip of his organ

Reason, is the blood circulating vigorously

In the spongy tissues of mine and his organs

When we’re craving each other


Is the moment during which he and I

Wrap around each other

And philosophy

Is his cum





In my mouth

My chin

Rests over his bare knees

My eyes

Watch into his eyes

My face

Receives caresses from his hands


His hand

Picks up the pen on the table


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