places on my cheek at night.

the solitary rose of your breath

is having no flower, pulp, or clay

I am afraid of being, on this shore,

a bra九九藏书网nchless trunk, and what I most regret

for the worm of my despair.

If you are my hidden treasure,

if you are my cross, my dampened pain,

never l九_九_藏_书_网et me lose what I have gained,

of your statue-like eyes, or the accent

Never let me lose the marvel

an九*九*藏*书*网d adorn the branches of your river

if I am a dog, and you alone my master,

with leaves of my estranged Autumn.