Disarmed I follow your solemn voice.
Those nights, when darkness
never close your tired eyelids
and your heart keeps watching
all what shadows forbid.
Contented, you feel the quiet remains
the whisper from your spirit,
too delicate for your lips to taste
too much a virtue for your mind to waste.
Numb, your body glows, still awaken,
thin veiled by the clouds´ delight
It gives place to the trembling moon
that carries your pale face in its light.
Disarmed, I follow your solemn voice
that slowly drowned all reason,
sedating my blood
with a strong presence, but short-lived, jubilee
pleasing the tranquil wind
for a deep and close invite.
And ever, ever as the minutes flew
my light ornament, in tumult,
my destiny,deserted, but long survives
as much as a storm allows
a wind forgotten, and left behind.
Down below me, you dwell in the grace of cider scent
like a host, of the most noble deeds
and I fall, I fall in supreme felicity to your breast
that sweeps me in your divine odour
into a breathless,
March the 10th 2016