Enchanter

He, a fine enchanter, has travelled
Miraculously, to this border of the heart,
where walls are cold, where doors are keyless.

What is his spell,
that is repeatedly sung?
That gracefully roams my heart?

What is his magic,
that grants me this desperate hope,
this courageous fear, this blisful melancholy?

My day is the moon, my night is the sun.
Bewitched, bedazzled by him.

Butterflies

These butterflies in my tummy
Exploded into thousands of colours
Flying to paint your grey sky

Atom

The day fell and left the throne to the moon

Your lips, endlessly wanted, spoke silence
Words were unwritten and unuttered

Only the touch of your finger was heard,
softly guiding mine to your dear soul

Every atom was intertwined,
simultaneously moving

And the time was still

The night was ours