A thousand Persian ponies fall asleep
in the moonlight plaza of your brow,
while four nights through I bound
your waist, the enemy of snow.
Between plaster and jasmine
your glance, pale branch of seed.
I searched my breast to give you
the ivory letters saying: Ever.
Ever, ever, my agony's garden,
your elusive form forever:
blood of your veins in my mouth,
your mouth now lightness for my death.
Ingen kommentarer:
Legg inn en kommentar