Let me
pass
as trees
on the far
hill
are taken
by a white
autumn fog,
delicately,
for I
have felt
the delicacy
of your smile,
your most
mild
look.
I did not
think
eyelashes
could be
so elegant
and
passion
such
ex-
quisite
agony.
The incan-
descent
colour
of your love
crosses
spaces,
ascends
to
clear
heavenly
ecstasy
in your
poetry.
They say
death comes
as a kiss --
yes,
may
tenderly
my cells
disperse.