Poets are the unrequited lovers Professing their Love, one of a kind For their unknown muses Sailing freely through their mind; Muses, they never know How much worship creates a myth. If Love had never been created Poets would have invented it; My muse, Shall a poet like me dare to touch With cutting words and raging desire A body so pure Neither the angels can lust? In the depths of the night When not even the silence can be seen, The poems slip between my fingers Like the sounds of a forbidden scene; It is the smoke that burns our breath That hallucinates us into the ties To taste the poisonous nectar Crawling down from the thighs Oh Muse, the fatal faith of Destiny How much can you bring to me? The Despair you let in without care The Love invented by Dishonesty How beautiful you are, Only inside…