There cannot be only one sky,
I would have the chance to breath
if you were under the same one
where I’m begging for air.
Even you could hear crying
the glowing petals of my senses,
when the infinite is filled up
in the gaze, gone up in flames.
You could be satiated
with filtered ardour
through oriental dyed fabrics.
I’ll spare you from stifling
walking across my incense labyrinths,
where the ironic violet rivulets
will quench the thirsty mystery.
Mystery doesn’t give itself
to whom is not enjoying it,
what are you waiting for?
Bring me back to joy!