I even lost metric now, my love.
That reflects perfectly your possession,
As you smile from above.
I will no longer my art scant.
Can you hear yourself here, taste yourself here,
In my disarranged, scattered verses?
I hope you don’t recoil
in front of my unknotted chant.
I hope you don’t burn
in the sizzle of soft purrs.  
 
Maybe I’m a woman in the body of a girl,
Maybe the other way around,
But you’re maddening me.
I’m a human again:
Flexible, of wax bleeding before candles,
With treacle running through my veins
as a dying bird that flutters.
Gravity suddenly disappears along colors:
Bonfires grow inside and consume
what was left behind by any other.
Everything is mouth washed by kisses plumed.
Everything dissolves as sand beneath heavenly spume.
 
I can fly so high oxygen runs out.
All that’s left is rain, is drought.
The horizon is no longer the limit: infinite is.
 
That amorphous well of squeezed darkness
that each day grows and changes odds.
That enormous suitcase that bales in a nook
supreme stars, alongside the dwarves.
Eternal explanation where we put thorns
which are certainties, and all the gods.
Where nor time nor distance mean anything,
where every rule goes barefoot to wars.
 
That’s what he is for me.
Irises that haunt,
that awake the ache to submerge
in the dark deep pond of his soul.
That’s what he is for me,
My home, my north,
My nation,
a nighttime flight
across newborn constellations,
a sudden desire and slight
of the galaxies of his warm moraine skin.
 
Ready or not for the game, love, let's begin.
I will wander planets, entire systems as a comet
in caresses that only galactic storms could orchestrate.
With closed eyes, every touch will be stardust in orbit.
 
I can fly this newly discovered universe, like a wind so swift.
Besides creator, I’m a muse.
That’s what he has awakened: could he give me a more precious gift?
I’m muse, bird, lover and woman, sorceress, muse, muse, singer,
And I will not linger.
I want to madden him like this.
I want to be his breath, his dream and nightmare,
For his dusted dreams, the water.
The anchor to his sanity and his bliss.
The light of his locked, shadowy eyes.
For his madness, the prise.
The path, the destiny, the prize.
The Insomnia to his nights,
the scars, the longing
The breathless dawning,
His despair, his woman,
His verse, his curse,
His touch perverse.
For his heart, the thronging.
 
I want to be storm and watch him wreck as I have done.
Oh lord, I want to watch him wreck.
Watch him drown in my capricious, atoned surge.
I want to watch him wreck,
Drowned in my song and my arms, in our urge.
 
I want to watch him wreck.
I want to love him till of the star trek,
There’s nothing left.