Love Lyric

Stir— shake off sleep. Your eyes are the soul of clear waters— Pigeons In a city street. Suns now dead Have tucked away of their gold for your hair: My buried mouth still tastes their fires. A tender god built your breasts— Apples of desire; Their whiteness slakes the throat; Their form soothes like honey. Wake up! Or the song-bird in my heart Will peck open the shell of your dreams. .    .    .    .    .    . Sleep, my own, Soaring over rivers of fire. Sleep, my own, Wading waters of gold. Joy is in my heart— It flutters around in my soul. … Softly— I hear the rosy dream …