By Sun, Jiahong
I push open the thin fog
That smells like the fresh cut grass；
I am afraid to wake you
Who sleep in my blue heart.
I stare at a strand of warm wind
That has a supple and graceful bearing；
I would like to fondle it
Which is like your soft lips
and stretches in the mellow lighting.
I gingerly hold this night
That is suffused by the twilight;
I would like to make the heart-throbs
which belong to the first time.
Looking up at the starry sky,
I breathe softly with my heartbeats,
in never-ending line；
For oft, in this time,
I can’t wait to hug you
Who sink in my heart, lips and eyes.