I have seen her a stealthily frail
flower walking with its fellows in the death
of light, against whose enormous curves of flesh
exactly cubes of tiny fragrance try;
i have watched certain petals rapidly wish
in the corners of her youth;whom, fiercely shy
and gently brutal, the prettiest wrath
of blossoms dishevelling made a pale
fracas upon the accurate moon….
Across the important gardens her body
will come toward me with its hurting sexual smell
of lilies… beyond night’s silken immense swoon
the moon is like a floating silver hell
a song of adolescent ivory.