Cycle

The feathers

that

the bird of my heart

drops are potty about

your cycle.

Enthusiastically,

they come near

and

love your cycle,

Oh! My hen.

Yes, Oh! My hen,

forgive me

for this peccadillo,

it's only my madness,

it's only my love,

it's only my sweet pain

of heart.



To acquire

your nearness,

to obtain

your destined love,

I want to jump over

the citadel of time,

but

cruel it becomes

to dilly-dally.