يَرشُفُنا مِن ريقِهِ مُدامَةً
نَكهَتُها تَهزَأُ بِالعَبيرِ
From his saliva, an aged wine sips us—
its bouquet mocks ambergris.
وَنَجتَلي دِعصاً مَهيلاً فَوقَهُ
أَملَدُ تَحتَ قَمَرٍ مُنيرِ
And we behold a soft, yielding dune; above it,
a supple stem beneath a shining moon.
وَانحَدَرَت ذُؤابَةٌ مِن شعرِهِ
فَانظُر ورُودَ الصِلِّ للغَديرِ
A lock of his hair comes streaming down—
behold the serpent coming to the pool.
يَلفِتُ مِن طَرفٍ خَفِيّ خَجَلاً
يَبغَمُ مثلَ الشادِنِ الغَريرِ
Shyly, he casts a furtive sidelong glance
and murmurs like a guileless fawn.
Sol 5.6