Your Lips

My unknown, my dear sweet Lady!
I should like to poeticise air
by your bright intonation.
I should narrow down my feelings
to the mole on your neck.
You are killing me - when you are smiling.
You are cutting me gesticulating.
The eye-colours of violet
are exhausting my views.
My unknown, my brilliant Lady!
I should die - looking at your undressing.
I should mad - watching how you shower
after taking a bath.
The supreme existential wisdom
might receive every moving
of your stranger to colouring lips.