Inside your body, your age is growing...

Inside my body,
my age places foot after wandering foot.
Time is unwavering,
it never rings its bell for time out,
it increases,
it journeys,
it shows up within us
like water that deepens
within our own watching,
until next to the chestnut burning
that is your eyes
a slender grass blade arrives,
and the trace of a tiny river,
and a small dry star
ascends to your lips.

Then time raises 
its threads in you hair,
and still in my heart
your fragrance of honeysuckle
lives like a fire.

It is beautiful,
how,
as we live,
we grow old in the living.
Each day
was a transparent stone,
each night for us was a rose of blackness,
and this crease that has come to your face,
to mine,
is its stone or flower,
the souvenir and memory of a bolt of
lightning...
My eyes were consumed
by your loveliness,
but you have become my eyes.

I exhausted your twin breasts
under my kisses it seems,
but all have viewed in my joy
their secret splendour.
Love,
it doesn't matter if time
(that same time that lifted
my body and your softness
as if they were two rising flames
or two stalks of wheat growing side by side)
tomorrow keeps them aloft and living
or mills them away...

The same invisible fingers
erasing the very existence that kept us apart
will give us our victory,
of being a single being under the earth.

Let me tell you what's happening with me...
You will ask:
But where are the lilacs?
There is always hope...
Let's our walk our own way to happiness.