I afflict you with a mutinous night,
I brand you with it’s terrible star.
You, so well put together and kept like a tower,
see how what you were recoils in terror
from your face of besieged pleasures.
I give you my primitive loam.
You shed your name, your eyes.
I reveal my swift skin
that loves the continents of your young body.
You sense a loss of homeland.
I want you to realize, my darling,
what this mutinous night is for,
exhaust this blue wick of sadness.
I want you to cherish
the extent of our desolation,
while you and I are nothing more than
forehead, breast and nape,
entwined in a void of love.
I breathe this same night as you,
this night humid with eyes,
this night of crushed hearts.
Though continents separate us,
the way it enters first you,
it is like a tide turning,
bringing a salt of remembered song,
this same night.
What part of you do I receive?
Your fear of love,
your day broken by horizons,
your ecstasy for another’s waist?
I receive all of this,
and I too am broken by a jealous moon.
With a rag-eared note in a bottle,
I send my reply.
I am lonely, and my body wishes this
night we share were not so immense,
so burdened with impossibility.
But a vastness of black flowers
drowns my mouth.
This night we both breathe,
alone with an enormous love,
I cannot traverse this hemisphere of ruins.