The night soaks itself

along the shore of the river

and in Lolita’s breasts

the branches die of love.

The branches die of love.

Naked the night sings

above the bridges of March.

Lolita bathes her body

with salt water and roses.

The branches die of love.

The night of anise and silver

shines over the rooftops.

Silver of streams and mirrors

Anise of your white thighs.

The branches die of love.