Write me with your ink on my body,
and the calligraphy of your lips

Make my back a canvas where your heartbeat dwells, 
and let each touch awaken
the echo of the beloved

Write me without words,
without voice, let your hands be the language
and the silence our verse

Let your breath be the spark that ignites the night,
and the fire that marks my flesh,
be memory of your touch

Let ...

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Perhaps from a distance

my love is not strange to you;

this passion may be a punishment

and not even have the fortune to see you again

I look for you in my fingerprints

in indelible memories;

I discover that everything was a mistake

of bitter remembrances and misunderstandings

This long wait is a punishment that chokes me to death;

wishing to have you with me

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In silence I recall the encounter,

passion written in letters I still keep

and in a desolate corner of some dream

I embrace the loneliness I had to accept

Remember me in the depths of your thoughts, 

treasuring that moment

that without laid out rules,

I wrote my verses

of you next to me

In the nights most of all,

with joy and melancholy,

I am reminded of ...

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Like a raging gale, 

sunset burns me up when memories  

cast me into the subconscious of pleasure

Fire embraces me, 

the sky of your kisses flash on my lips;

chained by the smell of your breath

and it is not possible to caress you with my hands

Tie me to your heartbeat, 

to sin, until I am hypnotized by passion

Alas, grant me at least the dry leaves of you...

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What it is that makes me love you,
in this inexplicable connection,
that while you sleep I would abduct your heart?

What it is that makes me love you?

Without offering anything, only these nights of memories,
you to enter into my body silently,
reincarnated in the monologue of my dreams

I would die for a kiss from you, if necessary...
a kiss on the tenuous thread of dawn,
there clos...

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I blossomed like delighted rain among your waters

soaked in delirium between the sheets

Hours passed...

sleeplessness rose…

the sweetest kiss traveled through the warm skin of my body

you laid upon me the whole universe

I was the fruit of your passion

The delight, the glory; an arsenal within you, inside me

afterwards calmness,

calm after being in your hands...

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I’ve had only 10% of your passion and it was perfect

Those hands…, they held me arousing the encounter,

they snatched me out of myself to get within you

It was perfect, succulent;

a table for a bed, seasoning without reasoning,

overflowing the cumulated fieriness in my body

Only 10% was enough to reach the sky...

I was pliable metal between your fingers 

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