Desire is a wolf song.
He is the great craftsman of forms.
It is a beast in suspense of silence.
It is trembling in the personal rhythm.

It is the city burning with thirst.
It is the ravenous fever in our room.
It is a lamp that illuminates the future.
It is a hot trail in the meeting.

It is the mystery, nectar of the earth,
of their forms, the life in those eyes
ecstatic, loving and turned on.

It is a torch in the temple of things,
it is consumed by its own combustion
because desire ceases in the ashes.