The hour of love has
the color of lilacs.
Its messages are hidden
It tastes like an apple.
Your body with crazy desires
covers my body like a hydra
to eternalise the time.
At the hour of making love
we do not sing a thousand songs,
our souls sing a thousand melodies.
I hold onto you all intertwined
and I am then like
an alien butterfly inside you
that makes you keep on thrusting.
In the silence and quietness
of the hour of love, we become one,
no distances exist between us...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem