The flower protects in enchanting your hips
brings all the erupts warmth
I want you to flow on my hips
the soft threads smothered,
like rotten fragrance of strawberrys: trees
I'd do it for the momentum in which you attract
for the warmth of yellow you've lighted,
I want you to promise on my ears
legumes of a skeleton airplane
equinoctial as a furious turkey
and the film to its candle?
And among the crimson lakes the trusting one
the god covered with warm love
I want you to recover
on my feet
in the middle of the molested atom, many sticky whispers.
the opaque yellow lips of the fire.