At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined, and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth, since we are made of earth and rain.

All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.

Oh to follow the road that leads away from everything, without anguish, death, winter waiting along it with their eyes open through the dew.

I learned about life from life itself, love I learned in a single kiss and could teach no one anything except that I have lived with something in common among men.

In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

So the freshness lives on in a lemon, in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, the proportions, arcane and acerb.

From scarlet to powdered gold, to blazing yellow, to the rare ashen emerald, to the orange and black velvet of your shimmering corselet, out to the tip that like an amber thorn begins you, small, superlative being, you are a miracle, and you blaze