My mahogany woman limbs thin and smooth head like a weeping willow clothed in white cotton, she calls me up the dark stairway past the Virgin in an alcove past the world when she whispers: nosotros amantes somos ángeles de fragiliad. To the rooftop just shy of the sun among the floral heads of the vines that seek it when she holds me to her breasts all perfume and willowhair that falls over her eyes, and she confesses: prefiero la luna, prefiero la vela. The diapason of my soul is flowering tears in my eyes. Her urticant hair drapes itself about me, a veil of night and perfume. I cannot see the sun. I do not need the sun when her twin stars sing for me alone: en mi cabello es el universo del amor. (translations: 1. We lovers are angels of fragility. 2. I prefer the moon, I prefer the candle. 3. In my hair is the universe of love.)