The Five Seasons

Let the petal bloom

in fascination, in drawing charms;

maturing on time and without rush,

irreparably glorious amidst dry gloom and stripped arms.

Lush contours in full nights,

toboggans falling from the cornice of the sky.

 Your lips like water melting in crimson dye,

foray into my devoted sigh and never, never, never die.

Let the petal bloom,

let it implode in wild coquetry; 

a paradox of emerald prairies,

an alchemy of crude volumes.

The welcoming palm awaits patiently,

the petal weights like the standing air,

invisible to the senses and foreign in nature.

The end arrives, and at last, we had the will to move on.

Let the petal bloom,

in deluges of change and warm inconsistence;

a palette of infinite tones,

an enterprise of opposition.

Let the freezing death conquer it all,

a storm of mute elegance and white winds.

Your lips like gliding snow perforate my pores,

puissant and delicate like pale gossamer.