And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
Burn, burn, flame up, sparkle in trees of light.
Your light, your cornmeal, your hope
pervades America's solitudes,
and to hunger
your lances
are enemy legions.
I like on the table,
when we're speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
The harbors are big with it-
bazaars
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your nipples are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories