Night, my most tender lover.
You gather your wings, gently move the lotus steps from the East Mountain, and stomp on the forest tops by the river;
After wandering back, coiled under the old locust tree, I looked up and saw you waiting for me in the cave house on the cliff;
Parting the kudzu curtain, you walk in and sit in a lame chair, and I can't tell if it's the scream of the chair or your low sigh;
Brew a cup of tea, blow the jasmine from the mouth of the cup, hold it in both hands to you, you take a sip along the edge of the cup I blow, and make a clear shallow smile;
You are the most loyal lover and never give the frivolous a chance. You hate the cat that creeps on the eaves; the moon lifts your skirt, and you swiftly hide in the oak woods, into the col and the deep spring;
You are the most punctual lover, always stubbornly waiting for me after sunset. Even if I am late, you are never angry; even if I am drunk, you will kiss me passionately;
You are the most empathetic lover. Half a life walking in a desolate world, overwhelmed by the gaps of strangers, and every path taken by clumsy steps is a wrong path. Exhausted, I came back here, holding you and I burst into tears.
You combed my half-white, thinning hair, chuckled and said, "Who said you were going to leave me forever?" Who said to use the eyes I gave him to find the light? Looking for the lips of a rose in the light? Now you know that the women conceived by the light always want you to bring them a light that is more dazzling than the sun;
"Every day, you squat in the Yang Valley with great confidence, stealing the six dragons' car and running wildly, trying to catch the sun in the Yu Valley, now you understand how ridiculous that guy with a yellow snake on both ears is, right?" Light is strong, darkness is stronger, and I am the string plucked by this stronger force;
"Just come back. Even if it is powerless, even if it is desperate, it is not too late to come back. Here, in my own home, I don't have to tell me about my experiences over the years, I don't have to pour out my secret and persistent emotions — I know everything;
"All eternal wounds, eternal sorrow and eternal death, let them go with the flowing water, here you will be with the birds, with the lions as friends, and I am your eternal companion, even if the day is as hot as day, as long as you lower the curtain, I will be called: I have a softness that all women in the world do not have, I have the black hair of all women in the world, I will not complain, I will not nag, I will not be jealous;
"I sit mischievously on the ceiling and listen to your dreams; I covet your dreams all night long; I fill in all the ravines and take you as if you were flying, and when I see the panic of your flight, I will laugh, and wherever the laughter goes, the autumn fruits fall to the ground;
"I am the midwife of your poetry. In my arms, you are still like a child in your twilight years, imagining the stars forever hanging high in the deep sky. Poetry is a weapon to uncover the secret of the earth, which unfolds unreservedly only in darkness. I tear open the black curtain, open the treasure house, drive away all existence; let the earth shed honey, the tiger and leopard speak, the gods dance naked; I condense into ink, and the dragon and snake wander like a dragon and a snake on the end of your pen—lover, what joy and praise for me to be able to dance on the tip of your pen! Because we, my lover and I, together awaken the vivid ghosts that have grown through the ages, gathered from the netherworld, from the caves, from the frozen earth, from the bottom of the tower, from the roots of the trees, from every corner that the eye of day cannot see, to your paper, roaring with excitement, dancing, laughing, hide-and-seek - like our children. ”
The picture comes from the Internet, invaded and deleted.