A pillow that comes so much alive,
When grasped it soaks the meadows, deep,
Whose evening’s dreams will always thrive
On rushing currents, whose desires leap,
Like thirsting sheep, whose tears won’t revive.

Brush the cattails that weep in sorrow
For fountains to spurt the golden sin.
Graveyards of truth that hide the morrow;
Lonely leaf finds its sanction in wind.
As forever you’re blown to feel the tomorrow.

Nights have earned the prelude to eternity,
While seasons dress the trees, abashed.
Sperm will plant the words in her destiny,
Thick it thrills, thronged and thrashed.
It well wills what counts her infamy.

The futures are wanton of your smile forever.
Young woman you’re born and baptized in lust,
Into their voices, that cry out and remember
As you swallow the erosion that drinks the dust.
Fall with them till the mountains surrender.