I hear the whisper of newborn thoughts.
I hear your words
touching chords of my loneliness.
With blossoming fingers
I comb desires,
so similar to ripe ears of rye
that will soon yield a harvest
in the form of faith, hope and passion.

I look at myself in the cracked mirror
of my gaze again - I enjoy the depths
of sea waves, emeralds
so painfully bottomless
that I lose control over my heartbeat.

My sleepless lips meet a kiss - a touch
so imprudent that the last stars
fall silent, the northern sky
kneels in mid-sentence,
the dawn tactfully turns its face away.

I do not want to admire you through
the cloudy glass of everyday life;
I demand all your senses,
the freshness of the first spring rain,
days never seen before,
a passion so fervent that the Sun
loses its shadow
and the night forgets to turn off the light.