Full woman, fleshy apple, hot moon,
thick smell of seaweed, crushed mud and light;
what obscure brilliance opens between your coloumns?
What ancient night does a man touch with his senses?

Love is a journey with water and the stars,
with smothered air and abrupt storms of flower;
love is a clash of lightening bolts
and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.

So kiss by kiss I move across your borders, your rivers,
your tiny villiages, until the genital fire transformed from within runs through the narrow pathways of the blood, and plunges down, like a dark carnation;
until it is, and is no more than a flash in the night.