In the star-filled silence,
In the dewy garden of night,
where jasmine blooms in bright white bunches,
infusing the air with subtle delight.
I constantly dream of this place.
Cold streams trickling down mossy rocks,
and the moon is bright against a thickly glittered sky.
And you are with me.
And there are strange, white grapes that hang
heavy from their vines.
We take joy in them, their sweetness unbound by any
mediocre definition, sharp sweetness mingling with currents of citrus,
I cannot explain.
But your smile as you lick your fingers clean,
and as you drink handfuls of pure from the stream,
I forget this place, the stars, the jasmine, the grapes.
I know only that I have come here,