Wish
Just your hot heart,
nothing more.
My Paradise, a field,
no nightingales,
no strings,
a river, discrete,
and a little fountain.
Without the spurs,
of the wind, in the branches,
without the star,
that wants to be leaf.
An enormous light
that will be
the glow
of the Other,
in a field of broken gazes.
A still calm
where our kisses,
sonorous circles
of echoes,
will open, far-off.
And your hot heart,
nothing more.
