“If I say your voice is an amber waterfall in which I yearn to burn each day, if you eat my mouth like a mystical rose with powers of healing and damnation, If I confess that your body is the only civilization I long to experience…would it mean that we are close to knowing something about love?” (Aberjhani)
Where the wild roses grow, by the still and translucent river
I am waking, at your sobbed melody, with a glacial shiver.
Lurking, folded in petals and undiluted perfume, I adjure,
Doleful and insistent, your wanton soul in amour to abjure.
Ruby and sultry as the blood that meekly trickles when you squeeze,
Opiated, your palms on the thorns that complete my beauty with
Suffusing agony, your mouth conjures me up, and on gentle breeze,
Esoteric and erotic, I disclose my flesh of enduring love’s pith.
Seductive, then you uproot my sentience and in arrant death I freeze…