Drunk With Pines
Drunk with pines and long kisses,
like summer I steer the fast sail of roses,
bent towards the death of the thin day,
stuck into my solid marine madness.
Pale and lashed to my ravenous water,
I cruise in the sour smell of the naked climate,
still dressed in grey and bitter sounds
and a sad crest of abandoned spray.
Hardened by passions, I go mounted
on my one wave,
lunar, solar, burning and cold, all at once,
becalmed in the throat of fortunate isles
that are white and sweet as cool hips.
In the moist night my garment of
charged to insanity with electric currents,
heroically divided into dreams
and intoxicating roses practising on me.
Upstream, in the midst of the outer
your parallel body yields to my arms
like a fish infinitely fastened to my soul,
quick and slow, in the energy under the sky.