I don’t know her intentions-
Of a kiss on my cheek-
Even if motivations-
Are weak-

And the evening is blurred-
In red wine and her smell-
I’m dissolved-
And I melt-
Slightly dying;

Mostly greatly resurrected…

What a useless attempt-
To reason desires-
When the world-
Is alert and it’s gliding-
To the valleys of berries or plums…

Fading away and seducing the dawn-
In her shade, I’m exhausted-
And out of breath-
What a path of intentions and grace;

Going down my body-
With velvet and lace-
Breaking free-
Flying fast-
To the valleys of berries or plums…

And hot blooded liqueur-
In my poisoned veins is settling
At last-

Mostly greatly resurrected…

And her lips-
Are of berry or plum-
On the mirror write LOVE-
Meaning DEATH…

© Dalia Lane