Dressed in the bright mantle of the night
you become high and transparent,
dreamy silhouette in the crescent moon
on the face of the mirror that silences pass through:

words have sleeping letters and sounds
heard only by the heart.

Ravishing, stretching angel wings,
eye to eye is lost
and the abyss gets born from the foliage.

A soft voice startles
like a mistletoe leaf,
even the herbs indulge in the flavour,
your body flows like a spring
through the sweet sap of flowers ...

The morning after the dew
purple in your hot skin
will get me full of spices.