The dew frosts on the roses
from the garden, on a night that the cold
Whip up the silence of my mouth.
Today is a night, where the normal
does not fit in memory
Your lips encourage me to search
your lips in the game of shadows,
rummaging I find you, wet
like an overflowing fountain, feline
and sweet claws that scratch
the bare skin of the night.
Your voice filters in subtle sighs
from an imaginary horizon.
Your skin plays in my hands, it slides,
sobs into my fingers and the curvature
from your back awaits the touch
from my impure lips.
Your anxious body moves its hips
like fire stirred by the wind.
In this game of blindfolds,
of touch and volatile friction,
I burst into your arms that await me
to guide me to the paradise of your womb.
I bite your lips as tender
petals and moans in total fullness
the night.