I desire the spot
Beneath the breast of her.
Though, her sighs show me to her eyes.
And, I might have abandoned all recognition of her
Were such colors before me
To never greet to me, such scenery.

The space below her breast,
The heart of hearts,
The area I do desire to
Penetrate.
For this motion is emptiness,
A mere lost moment.

She shows me tresses made of silver threads,
And shoulders sculpted from marble.
There is beauty named as delicacy in this room, so heated,
That I have enjoyed only the few seconds by
To die,
In softest arms, by the firelight.

A heart of hearts,
Not the skin for many years.
But, the heart for an eternity
To bask it,
And I desire to kiss it
And forge it anew, in the kingdoms of Heaven.