On a dark veil of my confused night
with your finger, like with a magic brush,
you are painting white, drowsy lilies.
Confused by your risen desire
they mindlessly grow and outgrow
the view of my shaded window.
I am watching you while in an ecstasy you ask the wind
Can this field bear so much beauty
which swells your chest to burst.
Wind is quiet, entirely got quiet, intoxicated,
Fears to not get blown away by the smell of coming poem
into the dreams of the innocent and still asleep ones.
And on my face, as on the waters of Jordan,
fly reflections of your original character
and the soul celebrates, not caring for eternity or volatility.
Pix from Net.