With Thine passionate fingers firmly twining mine,
I'm feverish, and yet I'm, strangely, feeling fine.

Thine longing hands, restless as my own pounding heart,
Caress me, their warmth like sun's early morning shine.

The tempest Thou cause within me dazes me and
Floors me, as if I've been carelessly sipping wine.

In Thine loving arms I stir, like a neck, with lips
Full of passion skimming its tensely wriggling spine.

Every spark from Thine fingers upon my bosom
Ensnares my heart, like an instantly growing vine.

Oh, My Dear Beloved Goddess, would Thou bless me
With Thine heart, since to Thee, I'm surely losing mine?