I shall embalm the stars and hang them at your girdle,
There where pansies lie; free and mobile.
And I shall dress you in mountains,
Hoping that immortality and rise;
Would profoundly suffice.
But I don't have the means to do
What my senses inspire me to.
Thus, allow me to write you
In words more naked than flesh
With blood-drops; raw and grandiose.
Allow me to embellish the linings of your skin
With sacred letters and ambiguous hints.
I will meet you one day
At dawn or morn,
And we will foresee our radiant yore.
To the one I deeply venerate,
To whom my affection is inordinate.