Gypsy, let me lift your skirt
    and have a look at you.
    Open in my ancient fingers
    the blue rose of your womb.

    Picaresque woman
    Let the virile wind pursue you
    with his breathing and burning sword
    while the beats of my heart
    skip with every kiss.

    The sea darkens and roars,
    while the olive trees turn pale.
    The flutes of night sound,
    and a muted sigh of the snow
    whispers your breath.

    Gypsy, run, my love!
    Or the green wind will catch you!
    Gypsy, run, my love!
    And look how fast he comes:
    A satyr of lowborn stars
    with their glistening tongues.

    Gypsy, run, my love!
    And my arms will possess you
    with an ethereal mantle of passion
    when the solitary rose of your mouth
    will sedate the worm of my despair.

Emily Dickinson's axiom
Emily Dickinson's Axiom...