7

The sweetness of the wetted leaves, the wind over, swept sun, morning moon. My clarity of vision, the palms encapsulate the outter contours and paint my body with rays of heat. You decorate me with your body of warmth, with your breasts of soil. I lay dead as a withered plant and my limbs become graced with the light of my soil. The light of my love that shines me and enfolds me in two pieces, where I stand before her, as one piece and she the other. The other half that has painted me and shone on me. The glowing halo that emancipates me. That is my love. That shines on me and waters me. I can feel her tears drip from the sky and hit my eyes. I can feel my longing of her absence to me. I can feel her water droplets sulking inside of my veins, the lifeblood that sustains my youth and permits me to continue and expand into countless millennia. The love of my soil. The love of my life. The woman of my night, the woman of my morning, and the woman of my day. Come to me and enlighten my insides with your warm and radiant glow. That is the Sun in the sky and the moon in the night.