And, I slept with a gush of melancholy
Only to wake up to the hum of a fountain.
For a bit of a second, yeah, I wanted
To open my eyes to see the landscape.
But I kept them shut anyway.
Who would have opened their eyes
While being painted with the softest kisses
On every bead of the spine?
Was it morning?
My closed eyes fed my nyctophilia, though.
I was surrounded by a musky forest scent,
And cackles of stones of the waterfall.
But your lips were what
That did sorcery on my back.
The vibrant sepia, the autumn rain,
And more than all...
You came like a pinch of sea salt.