A white sun is lighting in my head
and in its purest beams of pleasure
are fading the fine edges of your face,
while you are smiling, panic and immortal,
like your being the princess of my mind.
i don't know what's pushing me so hard
between your snow-white arms of goddess:
maybe be because I'm feeling like a stag
between the throbbing arms of a Diana,
who, icy and proudly, is approaching me
and in the azure mirror of her eyes
the greatness of love is being reflected:
a love hunted, but never captured,
and first foremost desired, too much wanted,
as you too much desire what you love
secretely, since you are so afraid of it.
admitting that there's something in our life
being able to make us suffer so much
is not an easy task for anybody,
and, less than ever, it is a matter for you,
my tender lady, who, under spicy stings,
are hiding the ancient heart of a woman
and its untouched mystery, so deep,
in front of which to us it's only given
to bow, and to admire.