When you make love to me, you unbutton The black jeans of the universe, You discover worlds, paths, stars, Dwarves and giants, the viciousness Of a blackhole, a machine, Swallowing everything. Yes, you make love to me, As though to pour milk on the full moon, You turn q into d, my love, A crochet to a demisemiquaver, And you make rhapsodies and raptures, And records, as I make them envy, All the suns.*