The Language Of My Love Does Not

I Cannot Be Known Better Than You Know Me Your Eyes In Which We Sleep We Together Have Made For My Man’s Gleam A Better Fate Than For The Common Nights Your Eyes In Which I Travel Have Given To Signs Along The Roads A Meaning Alien To The Earth In Your Eyes Who Reveal To Us Our Endless Solitude Are No Longer What They Thought Themselves To Be You Cannot Be Known Better Than I Know You.

She Is Standing On My Lids And Her Hair Is In My Hair She Has The Colour Of My Eye She Has The Body Of My Hand In My Shade She Is Engulfed As A Stone Against The Sky She Will Never Close Her Eyes And She Does Not Let Me Sleep And Her Dreams In The Bright Day Make The Suns Evaporate And Me Laugh Cry And Laugh Speak When I Have Nothing To Say

All My Desires Are Born Of My Dreams. And I Have Proven My Love With Words. To What Fantastic Creatures Have I Entrusted Myself, In What Dolorous And Ravishing World Has My Imagination Enclosed Me? I Am Sure Of Having Been Loved In The Most Mysterious Of Domains, My Own. The Language Of My Love Does Not Belong To Human Language, My Human Body Does Not Touch The Flesh Of My Love. My Amorous Imagination Has Always Been Constant And High Enough So That Nothing Could Attempt To Convince Me Of Error.

The Language Of My Love Does Not Belong To Human Language, My Human Body Does Not Touch The Flesh Of My Love.

The Poet Is He Who Inspires, Rather Than He Who Is Inspired.