How much triumphant your white orbit,
and your bread chest, height of climate,
your crown of black trees, beloved,
and your nose of a lonely animal, of a wild sheep
that smells of shadow and precipitate titanic flight.
Now, what splendid weapons my hands,
Worthy your bone shovel and your nail lily,
and the place of my face, and the rent of my soul
they are located in just the force of the earth.
How pure my look of nocturnal influence,
Dark-eyed fall and fierce spur,
my symmetrical statue of twin legs
It goes up to wet stars every morning,
and my mouth of exile bites meat and grapes,
my arms of a man, my tattooed chest
in which the hair penetrates like a tin wing,
my white face made for the depth of the sun,
my hair made of rites, of black minerals,
my forehead, penetrating as a blow or path,
my mature son's skin, destined to the plow,
my salt-eyed eyes, fast marriage,
my tongue friend soft of the dike and the ship,
my teeth of white schedule, of systematic equity,
the skin that makes my face an ice emptiness
and on my back it turns, and it flies on my eyelids,
and it falls back on my deepest stimulus,
and it grows towards the roses in my fingers,
in my bone chin and in my feet of wealth.
And you like a star month, like a fixed kiss,
as wing structure, or early autumn,
girl, my supporter, my love,
the light makes its bed under your big eyelids,
golden as oxen, and the round dove
It makes its white nests frequently in you.
Made of wave in ingots and white tongs,
your furious apple health stretches without limit,
the shaking barrel in which you listen to your stomach,
your hands daughters of flour and sky.
How similar you are to the longest kiss,
its fixed shake seems to nourish you,
and its push of embers, of a revolt,
it is beating in your dominions and rising trembling,
and then your head grows thin in hair,
and its warrior form, its dry circle,
suddenly collapses in linear threads
like sharp edges of swords or smoke inheritances.
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