I know all of thy times, thy moves, thy scents
and thy shadows, and thy silences, and thy breast,
precisely what their shiver is and their colour,
and thy walking, and thy melancholy, and thy eyebrows,
I have always been looking for the shadow
of eyelids upon a cheek. Looked for it throughout
the geography of eastern and western
fairy tales. Did not find it.
Thirsty I drink your fragrance, your cheeks I'm dearly wrapping
into my palms, them both, like you embrace
a wonder in your being.
This closeness seems to burn us, staring eye to eye.
! all of these - verses - are to you devoted
written at the age you have now
when I was like the Angel
and Death was touching me
I
do not repent
of having gathered mud into my soul -
but I do think about you.
! you, the most beautiful lady,
you pick me, take me with you,
always walk me home, or maybe
it is Death you walk me to,
Like a night dream you hover over my soul.
You rest your temple upon my heart
like on a red rock, and you wait for me
to tell you the names of all things which I
Should I finish the story of the tramp
who one by one had stolen his own nights?
Oh well... upon your smile soft petals fall,
so soft I can't hear them, made of moonlight
I do not seem to be ours,
of us both.
Oh, and you sniff my breath
I have snatched you out of the air,
melodious deity, slender,
to pass the ring of my arm
round your nervous waist as a finger.