I must praise your body;
It’s like the earth’s dark soil
spoiled by the tropical sun, redolent of harvest,
I bury my eager hands into your fertility,
and bring out the rich greenery.
I drink from your lips the nectar of life; spring
is in your saffron-colored perianth.
My body is burning,
from my loins to my eyes,
the battlefield of virtue and sin.
I’m a proud man, broken by you.
The vengeance of love bends me;
The pain of love crushes me;
And forgetfulness saves me.