I'm thinking of your sex.
My heart simplified, I'm thinking of your sex,
faced with the ripe flank of the day.
I stroke your bud of pleasure, it's in season.
And an old feeling dies,
degenerated in brains.
I'm thinking of your sex, furrow more prolific
and harmonious than the womb of Darkness,
though Death conceives and brings forth
from God himself...
I'm thinking, yes, of the free beast
rutting where he pleases, wherever he can.
Oh, honeyed scandal of twilights,
Oh, mute outcry.
Translation by Sandy McKinney