Lovewind Flows Eastward

Why are you so gentle while dressing me white
Must you be so sweet as to sing me such lies
Like the Eastward wind’s breath on my heart, never meant
Dove wing covering my soul with honey-milk scent

Barely can I see the skies float away
My eye, cunning wanderer, soon to betray
And the curves of your laid hair, thus I am dreaming
Softer that any great sculpturer’s Venus

How these high waters amidst the silks feel
So sensitive, blissful a torture to bear
Pure blackness to which all my sense is long lost
For to such depths I would most willingly drown