Narcissus

The willows gesticulate with tenacious fingers.
They want to grasp my white-naked limbs,

flanking me on either side like sentinels in an army.
No man or woman, nor element of beauty pierces

the surface of my gaze,
I only see a straight path into the lake,

that mirror in which reeds billow
like abandoned corsets in sun-lanced waters;

and where I am free to gaze at my own starry eyes,
and where my feelings erupt in a Vesuvius of flowers.

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