We two together
peering at the sky
under the pink flowers roof
through whose tiles
the wind mildly
insinuates itself.
It's sweet feeling
the caressing of the skin
and almost touching our faces,
we naked as the earth
that, as it's born, shows itself
and from this shame
cannot suffer.
In the shadow of the peach-tree
passion lights up
and groans of pleasure
mingle
with the rustle of the branches.

13. 7. '14