Ah, Poet, Poet, if only I could become

Ah, Poet, Poet, if only I could become A magical fly, to delve into your mind and soul, To bring light to the chaos of your thoughts and feelings That also upend my own being. We wander aimlessly towards each other, Yet we do not find, do not meet, do not touch serenely To cling to one another and remain so, inseparable, unshaken. I would love you like a dream, like a entwined story, In which souls intertwine, merge, To share from the sweet cup of love. But my fiction is shattered by the man tormented By carnal desires, who strives to awaken them in me, Acting upon my mind like a Chinese water torture. There's no need, for in bed He is the master, Holder of the instrument that brings so much pleasure, That a woman's body abandons itself willingly, Its senses stirred, and when the weakest man becomes The strongest and most manipulative master. Nothing simpler. You can be loved this way, And otherwise, or both at once, Just don't mix them, for each has Its own purpose and place, They should support, not eliminate each other. What are you afraid of? Sipping the melancholy woven in poems, Our thoughts, calm rivers under the moonlight, Meet and unwind, share, support each other. Ah, Poet, Poet, enshrouded in immortality, Our souls travel like two wings of dreams, Time binds us, splits us, entwines us In elusive charms, in light and forgotten night.