.
(2006)
Like a perturbed tune, a moon of aquelarre dances through crystals and beads
you sleep
maybe is my uneasy sigh; a sweet presentiment gets maybe entangled in the airy night.
Electric waves cross the atmosphere, watery: I am in a vigil, such a sentinel; your delicate lace brings me your name
now
it does it in galvanic spasms
and all this runs by the nightair
the nightair
instantaneously, being one only thing with the mist of the night, that is electric and is you.
There is no pain: you're the sun of my growing...even your ivies know that I love you like nobody-else does it: I do.
There is a blue-alpha message crossing the blue-alpha night, that could not be deciphered by the mörning:
and some aroma of my pubis hair is telling you: "I am afraid, now you are who shall take my pain away, my fear..."
Meanwhile, out in the night, the mystery of a smile, becomes sweet tear; the mystery of a tear, becomes sweet smile.
In a while, the Demon of the Sun will start dancing sur la Manche.
.
