A brush of evening clouds.
The perfume of flowers in the darkness.
A harp melody
Accompanies the chanting of poetry.
Smoke rises from the incense clock’s seal characters.
We lock the silk sliding doors,
And let down the curtains of the bed,
And whisper the words
We do not want others to hear.
The moonlight flows like water.
All the world is still.
My young lover can read my mind.
Laughing, we wash away my makeup,
And watch our love making in the mirror.
Yu Qingzeng
