THE POET TO HIS DELOVED

Beloved, this night you have been crucified
on the two curving timbers of my kiss,
and your distress repeats how Jesus cried
and recalls a holy Friday sweeter than that kiss.

On this rare night your steady gaze has spied
Death singing in her bones from happiness
for this September night that´s ratified
my second fall and all too human kiss.

Beloved, we will die together, close together;
this exalted bitterness will mellow as it dries
and Darkness turns our dead lips from one another.

Reproaches will no longer cloud your blessed eyes,
nor I again offend; instead we´ll sleep together
in one single grave, like a little sister and brother.

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