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erotic poem

seien Sie in mir als die ewigen Stimmungen
lassen Sie uns unsere niedrigeren Neigungen ausdrĂĽcken
entlang den Bänken
lassen Sie hören
das endlose, dumme merriment der Sterne
erklären Sie mir nicht
noch dreizehn Jahre
die Luft ist von Dämmerung und Frühling voll
ein Vogel sang
glänzt das letzte Alter, das folgende mit Hoffnung wird gesehen
hängen Sie keinen Wreath
es war der Herbst des Jahres

 



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