Festival of the sweet name I chose names for you in my prayerbook. I had no other teacher. Your pages immersed in such terrible love provoking my thirst. They opened, sweetly, paths in my blood -obedient until then-misplaced sometimes, perturbed the ghostly purity of my child-like thoughts when from those verses, the most beautiful words, were becoming part of my innocent language. My first caresses were verbs, my love only to name you and the pain a precious stone the wounds in the tender skin of your back. My gaze traveled over your flowing blood of the ardent unceasing and my pulses, repeating incessantly the enrapturing news, until the translucent veins, rose. The light trembled with your name, like a heart was jumping between the ribs and the tired missal of my falling hands, Still marks disengaged as covered shells. Tiny sparkles between the fabric, looking down, from the communion table, Signalling my relief. And annulled, enamored I lightly parted my mouth, while my body received all of your body.