[claude2]

Poem 

"I head on your legs stretched, you hair caresses me. Your finger follows the line of the eyebrows, descends behind the ear, caressing the lobe, running down the cheek and alights on my lips. We sit at the edge of the enchanting river where every day we meet. Only the song of love finches dresses the religious silence of the place. We are in the spring, the air is warm, silky rayon this very typical luminous transparency of this season. "