This is love: to fly to heaven, every moment to rend a hundred veils;

At first instance, to break away from breath –

first step, to renounce feet;

To disregard this world, to see only that which you yourself have seen I said, “Heart, congratulations on entering the circle of lovers,

“On gazing beyond the range of the eye,

on running into the alley of the breasts.”

Whence came this breath, O heart?

Whence came this throbbing, O heart?…

Oh, there are eyes that he can see,

And hands to make his hands rejoice,

But to my lover I must be

Only a voice.

Oh, there are breasts to bear his head,

And lips whereon his lips can lie…

From the womb

of bliss

the gentle lips

were born -

generous unions;

paired magics;

magnets

for their own

ripe kind…