Clouds are like melted milk

Clouds are like melted milk,
Sky spilled from the market.
The sun is rolling like a bun,
In the gentle embrace of the night.
Day, sweet as marmalade,
Soon in their mouths will melt...
In the plays of the songs of the cicadas —
You're the beauty of the chestnut trees!
The night unwound the tangle of the day,
Jump on your shoulders...
The sun is rolling like a bun.
Tenderness. Grasp. Evening.