When the bird smiles in my gaze,
and with the fragrance of cherry visits the height of poplar trees
and it entwines the whole world with a flight,
I no longer look for the silhouette of your body,
because, enchanted by April I feel
you boil on my lips
and in the kisses of wind,
I recognize your fingers coming with May.
Under the beat of their touch,
I open the glades in me
And I become the tide of June
Blossoming in the stream of feelings,
And with it to the coast of your breast I ashore
And with all the force,
The depth of subtle flow I spread,
I bathe your things
And with the sky of my skin I lay.
In every star of July,
Which twinkles in your stature
with the dreams of a sunflower I start August
and with the golden of September
I dance with soft belly
and with my shivers,
I sit all over your plains
and with the moonlight, I knit the strings into embraces
and I arrange juicy fruits of lust.
With the year of cherry,
I embrace, more and more ripe quince in you
and with endless bunches of grapes I consume October,
swaying my hips
I quietly bring it to November
I twist my palms
and in ducats I string myself around your neck
into quiet birch-lines
and put on the glittering whiteness of December
I take you into the first January dawn
and with crystals of snowflakes
kiss your passionately,
I burn with the spark of February on your cheeks
I gather the strength of March
to bring you, with the first kiss of spring,
to the year of cherry,
with me, again . . .