A mosaic of falling seeds
spins me sickly into a coma.
The only thing that saves, keeps
me from tumbling down - her aroma.

All the thoughts like ants have gone away,
they crawled through my ears, my mouth.
Oh, the mouth, the royal taste - just stay,
rave on my flesh, love well-wrought .

And there I lie - on the lips
that are not mine - neither his.
Rather die than lose those strips
of pretty scarfs I could kiss.