If night had smell
It would be musk and incense of his skin.
If I could spell
Those special notes of darkness
I would have called
That pleasure tunes my hidden vital sin.
If moon would christen
Alliance of cool-blooded mind and artist
The name is moral
Of immoral virtue to unite ones breath,
To stand his gaze,
To strip my temper. And I need no less
Than lightly graze
His wanton lips with mine.
Oh, Boy! The sun meets summer in his eyes
And side by side
Cold reason, logic and devotion are allies.
If cast aside
All duties, honours, mercy rites – those roots
That forge his cage
What would have comfort
His torrid heart? Boy made of flame and flesh
And rocks that grow up to the clouds