Though, not undressed.
When the moon tells you to reveal
Softest colors, to your pale,
Would you send summer away?
Give off flakes of snow,
To be specks of ashes at your sight.
The inborn meadows,
Wild, as all your thrashing
During the vast nights.
When the moon calls for it,
To state the pain is too great
As an undying comfort?
When a hand brushes your cheek,
Speak to me?
When a lover surrounds your tired,
Could your soul send echoes?
While always beneath our curtains,
Drowning what you believe
To be a softness,
In the great waters we skipped our hearts
As stones over an ocean of glass,
Reflecting glints of something peaceful,