Friend, I’ll meet you in the heart of a shell.
Little bird, nest in the breast of the wave.
Give me your tongue, love. Give me the salt.
And give me too
that sweet lizard that makes me crazy
when it threads through the grass.
Slowly let the down catch us there
My breasts are two caged birds
when your fingers seek them
from among the leaves and flowers of my dress.
But when leaves and flowers fall to the ground
-for desire carries a scythe!-
They are two fishes hat flee from you hands
on the whitecaps of the sea.
with a butterfly net
you set traps for me
among the folds of pleasure
Today I would lock the lizard up in a cage.
And make it the festival of the fingers,
the dance of ivy inside the ear,
the tenderness of the sole of the foot,
the black gold of brow and armpit.
I would follow the roads that delirium forgets
with very slow steps
like that of the ox flowing
this landscape of Gypsy moon.