Horas Rubras Vase

CRIMSON HOURS. Deep hours, slow and silent, made of sensual and ardent kisses, of nights of voluptuousness, hot nights where there are laughs of fainting virgins... I hear the Judas trees laughing, disheveled... Stars fall in flames, mad stars, and the languid kisses of the moonlight are pieces of silver along the roads... My lips are white as lakes... My arms are light as caresses. The moonlight dressed them in pure silks... I am flame and white snow and mystery... And I am, perhaps, in the voluptuous night, O my Poet, the kiss you seek!

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