After John Keats

I hang from a cloud, fly over an island,
Listen to cries and angry prayers,
Find a path through filthy air and deadly smiles.
Death is kneeling before your tender body,
Begging to be kissed alive,
Hug his tears and caress his wishes.
The end is close, and an empty happiness, fills my heart.
Scatter more of you delicious scent,
Or recite your name without a fret.
O, lonely breeze of drunken sorrow.
No more nights to spare for her hymns,
And only the moon can shine in the dark.
Read me another letter, a last story,
A sleep that kills the dream.
Here we go again, my good friend.
Here we go to the fall in a winter meadow,
Catching the clouds and a thread of dawn.
O, immortal smile,
No more do I fear the eyes of tomorrow.
I still hang there, throwing my last dreams,
Holding my heart,
Breathing your face.