For some time,
I met all my men in dreams.
Since then,
the night has bloomed inside me,
lingering like a shadow
in an abandoned room.

The universe knows
only in darkness, the light is born.
There, I will find you—
my love planet,
my funeral hour.

I wish you would never exist—
loving a man
is a dangerous chapter
for me, a blonde at midnight,
Sistine slave
alone in the mirror
kissing the pain that hangs
from my mouth, like a warm
tangle of grapes.

My Sistine soul,
a mechanical animal now,
for whom tenderness was never invented,
feeds on rosy-dark
bits of glances,
extracting pure love from every
lust-filled curiosity.

Loving a man
always was a dangerous chapter,
for me, a blonde at midnight—
God save
my Sistine soul.