The Last of the Night

The Power of Love and Fragrance

Photo by Vladimir Fedotov on Unsplash

The last of the night, in my heart, desire prances
Like a spring flower in bloom
The hours' pass, and as time advances
And I am still singing to her eyes, a sweet perfume

A song of beautiful dreams, leaving me for her
The scent of her accepted in the deep night
The morning of her face, her fragrance a blur
From everywhere it comes, a magical sight

I do not dream of stars behind the veil of the sky
Wasting away, I speak only from the heart
I do not name anything; its name is on high
She enchanted me, breaking even the impossible, a work of art

Her hair, like her sweetness, her drawing
The tremor of her lips, all of them like the morning
That does not disappear; her silence, her voice
As if I am swimming in slow water, I am adoring

She is the sixth of women, my beloved
The unique female of the universe, I am solved
For there is no fragrance before or after her
My spirit yearns for her, a fierce desire, a blur