SEED OF MUSTARD
I sow your field
with silence words
fertilized with poem of music.
In every deposited seed
my fortitude and knowledge is impregnated
to create your ardent paradise.
Four seasons have to pass:
rains that bathe your evenings of nostalgia,
autumn that strikes the heart,
spring where your body is a pleasure
And finally the summer has come
harvest of your body fascination in flower.
The universe is our bed
You the ground,
me who is the sky and the rain that fertilizes you
So that in you curdle the fruits of love.
