Tanka # 175

كهمس الأوراق
خيال وجهها وهو يمرّ
بين حروف القصيدة،
تاركاً، في سماءها
خيوط فجرٍ أبيض كالماء


To write her name
in the form of a poem
and feel in it moving
all the swirling eddies
in the oceans of the world


Her dark hair
a rain of fire
flooded across my belly
and moving insatiably
to the rhythm of her head


Haiku # 613 | Tanka # 167

Dans la pluie
qui mouille mes lèvres
je goutte ton nom


Dans mes mains
je les acquis,
tes cheveux tombant
comme la pluie
de la voute du ciel


Imprégnée de rosée
sa peau de fleur respirait
le blanc de la poésie


Dans le jardin,
sous le ciel de l’aube,
sa peau de fleur
imprégnée de rosée
respirait la poésie.


Laying in the garden
at the break of dawn,
the flower of her skin
soaking in dew
breathed poetry.

Letter, April 30, 2017

I feel the press of your breasts and soft skin around me, everywhere, coaxing me to flower into you the erection of my body, the life of my poetry. Your light comes in flashes of intuition, falling upon my face as through the sunlit openings of an orchard, and I heed with the attentiveness of my whole body, the animal soul in me. Your dew falls like an erotic enchantment and a buoyancy comes like a fountain rising from the depth of my soul; suddenly I find myself harnessed in shafts of wheat upon the altar of your body, ready to burn, ready to become dough and bread, ready to feed upon the milk of your breasts and the honey of your skin. Your body is the world, the element I am living in, moving through, and this eros, this tension between us mercilessly opens me and challenges me to become in the thrust the man that I am. So I take you, as I give myself to you, as through you I slingshot myself into the sky of eternity.

Woman of silk and fire, woman of milk and honey suckling my wildest desire.