Your laughter slightly curling as at their edges roses,

Effaces my despite at your metamorphosis;

You awaken, now the dream is all forgot.

Once again unto your tree I’m tied with a knot,

You squeeze my entire body with your little cark.

Would we were a plant, and in but one sole bark,

A solitary warmth, a solitary color,

And of which our kiss would be the only flower.

Jean Cocteau