YOUR MOUTH

I was at my divine labor, upon the rock
Swelling with Pride. From a distance,
At dawn, some bright petal came to me,
Some kiss in the night. Upon the rock,

Tenacious a madwoman, I clung to my work.
When your voice, like a sacred bell,
A celestial note with a human tremor,
Stretched its golden lasso from the edge of your mouth;

—Marvelous nest of vertigo, your mouth!
Two rose petals fastened to an abyss...—
Labor, labor of glory, painful and frivolous;

Fabric where my spirit went weaving herself!
You come to the arrogant head of the rock,
And I fall, without end, into the bloody abyss!