THIS IS NOT A SENTENCE
A temporary bed in a temporary room of a temporary apartment in a temporary complex where temporary lovers go home from their temporary jobs feeling temporarily exhausted and temporarily frustrated temporarily meet and temporarily make love feeling temporarily safe in each other’s arms hoping to find some temporary bliss in this temporary life.
P.S. This is a temporary poem but let’s just say I feel like ending it. Permanently.
Phan Quỳnh Trâm