Your love is a summer flower drawn by a dreamy lover, gathering baskets of longing, carrying them on a horse's back, and sending them every morning toward your blue eyes.
Your love is a secret, a magical tale that resides on distant islands within me that only you can touch.
Your love is the joy of the morning. When it opens its eyelids, I melt into its breath like a wet bird, and I sail in your eyes without a boat toward oases of warmth where secret springs lurk.
Your love is a wild tale, a journey into the depths of the soul, upon whose branches lie colorful birds. I wish you could smell its captivating fragrance.  Your love is a secret, something I can't tell you.