Serenata

By the river banks
the night is wetting itself
and on Lolita’s breasts
the branches die of love.

The branches die of love.

The naked night sings
over the March bridgeheads.
Lolita washes her body
with brine and tuberoses.

The branches die of love.

The night of aniseed and silver
shines on the rooftops.
Silver of streams and mirrors.
Aniseed of your white thighs.

The branches die of love.

Serenata, Garcia Lorca

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