The lustful spheres shine. You naked volatile. You reveal the secrets of your elastic lips. You cross the line of perversion. You are not mortal.

     Hedonist transparencies of your breasts, are spirals at the apex of my tongue, nexus to the soul. I think of you, the rectangular possibility opens: I am a wolf in the window. Contemplate from your source the fiber of my back, I look at the moon but I think about you, I know you're after me. I confess to the breeze that nobody had bewitched my fingers. Now they slide into the fire of the graffiti. You wait for me in the ecstasy of the vibration of every second, of every moment. The force of the hearts pulsates between the walls of this room with dim light, with low light, with light of delirium. The thirst for desire appears in the cool breeze. You feel the monster outside the picture, but I am in the middle of the frozen ocean and the passionate hell. In that center I remain immobile and my whole body vibrates, Your pupils of Neptune recognize the virility that has you enraptured, in the warmth of the nest. You still feel me inside, although I remain in the shadow figure before the light. And the rays are emitted, the particles of light, which reach the desire of your lips. The feeling of belonging to an infinite instant is incredible. Contemplation with the skin, with the legs, with the breath of the vertigo of strength that makes you moan like Cortázar's moon. Now we play the nymph and the satyr. We are the ruthless work of some cursed artist. There are no limits to so much lust and the hands become cycles of caresses that give and take away life.