When
as if entangled in dry air
A
memory opens like a dark rose
And
again you lean close to whisper
Your
breath caressing my neck
Your
curls touching my cheek
I
can’t sleep
Night
breathes darkly on my face
And
unbuttons my mind with dreaming fingers
I
think of your lips
Your
mouth a pink rosette
O
sweet cockade of passion!
I
have several festivals inside me
One
of whose doors
Only
your voice opens
My
heart is a cavernous ballroom
Where
silk-slippered acolytes
Dance
among the mirrors
I
have tombs of air inside me—
Hear
my dry mumble
Echo
in your city’s yellow canyons
Until
I saw you
I
never knew a woman
Without
a shadow
O fire of naked flowers
Far from these avid fingers
What
good does it do
To
hold out the hand of my thoughts?
Since
I came home
Spring
squats on bare haunches
The
hungry season waits
Like
a dog in the road
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