In your bed without suffering,
body of nude moss.
You stretch upon the sheets
like a sunrise of dunes,
and your dark eyes imprison the day.
Your smooth breasts invade my
I lose sight of the murdered groves.
Why didn’t I die there?
Why must we live beyond the bodies
we throw off like capes?
All else is suffering without hours,
pursued birds without a sky,
Knowledge of love burns
fevers through our braided tongues,
ruins of thirst entomb our sleep.
We linger beyond the death of nights.