Poezja

While the night takes of her nightdress,
spreads her stars out blue-white and naked
and prepares herself for the caress
of the coming sun
 
I see the wind pulling
on your blonde curls of hair,
catch your fragrance
like lavender on the evening wind
 
and your lips
are pomegranate-red in the moonlight
that spreads her golden cloak
and you are prettier than just beautiful
 
and a mere moment does linger
when you walk right into my arms.