Above my bed in time with the sway
of curtains caressed by night's breath...

She flicks a fanned image of Catalan art
under the parasol with a twitching...

When I am little in mind
or little in forgiveness...

You, coquette and lovely, once managed
to encompass the allure of your sex...

Under an oak tree I sit
with you in summer...

If you were a planet, I bet
you would dance around the sun...

I wake up every morning to an alarming sound,
the sound of no sound...

Nightingales nuance
morning melodies for those...

Don't worry.
Don't let me make you forget...

If you think I will wait for you here
beneath this rain-soaked parasol...

You think I dont know it, but amongst
Your greenhouse kisses you scent of something else...

We flit around the cobbled square
under the snow of moonlight...