Closed or open, you are all my eyes can see.
Desert harbor where a heart,
like a fruit in the sun,
shrivels from waiting.
With lightning for a needle
pierce into me, beloved,
and let my tears weep
into your sacred ground.
The vast language of the night enclosed between our merging bodies.
There are not enough flowers in the world to make a honey as fiery and abundant as your kiss.
…ah, but to kiss you, that is to have a beat in my heart.
This poem, a rose
Grown fervent in your dark hair,
Now bleeds burning wine.
I don’t care if what I write is beautiful or not—it is only meant to touch the hem of your dress; be worthy to gaze in your eyes’ purity.
Poetry is my way of dissimulating her presence.
in the solitude of her soul
the wind combed
through her hair,
the world like an endless poem
stretched below her feet.
I held my heart
like a cup before your sky;
and its waters filled the earth,
in the vision of your stars.
For me to burn I do not need to kiss you, or touch you, or think of you—you are the silence at my soul’s root, the emptiness that holds my being like a universe of stars.