Night song

It is not a hoax:
The woman from the
Extreme of wish who
Orders my soul dish

Her elbow is from moon
Her skirt is from sky
And her hair is from
That infant sun
Which my grand child will
Certainly make a castle
From its light


It is not a story:
The woman who passes
The road of sin
The body which flies
With flames of heat
And by passion
And lips bites me
In a noughty dream

It is not a book:
It is a song
Which echoes
In the body of night