When a day tenderly expires,
sunset undoes unknown arms;
a riff of lyre suspends itself there,
and azure flees—its mask declined.
Off go blue and white, now music
moves—to sigh from silence,
and light, with modest step, goes
to nest itself within the dusk.
Your arm then weaves a gentle vow,
your gaze—a spun-out gleam:
“Come, it is the hour when all caresses,
when even time has drunk its knell.”
O night, so bare within your adyton,
you strum and strain each gentle joint—
my neck bends low, and all my light
is falling to your trembling mouth.
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