The horizon is glorious—
unbroken, when your beauty
does not invade my sight,
but invites my eyes to stay,
to land before my soul departs.
You steal my light,
and I steal your shadow—
you, my burn; I, your breeze.
Then I come to life,
drenched in the dream of greens and growth,
the dream of offspring and fertility,
seen through the slats of your shadow—
the veil that bars my horizon,
locks me behind your flesh,
behind roses and thorns,
where whims ignite in burning red.
Like trees whose branches are beggars,
stretching arms of mendicancy,
while my roots sink deep, deep into your trap.
The sky is unreachable in this dungeon—
a dungeon of you,
the treasure
of my pains and pleasures.
