Between your pale breasts, a bizarre pearl.
You dream, and your curious hand wanders astray,
Under the algae of silk and flowers of satin.
I love your perilous Latin smile,
Your deceitful eyes consumed by shadows
And your winding collar of a Florentine page.

Your eyes are green and grey like twilight.
Insidiously, your laugh conceals
Your delicate hate and subtle wrath.
Your hair is the burning brown of red roses
And your dress of melodious ruffles
Resembles the treacherous waters where whirlpools sing.

The tentacles of spring lie in wait;
The musical April prepares its preludes;
The chasm of morning and abyss of evening
Flow into each other; desires, same as despair,
Drag me with sobbing weariness towards
The perversity sprinkled throughout your black irises.