Your nudity’s insistent beauty on the savannah of the
sheets
(Goya and his maja
in that venereal caldron)
The infinite seduction of your hardened nipples
(Ludwig Van and his sonata, my inmortal beloved).
The shining violence of your vulva’s humidity
(Narcoleptic
brush strokes, sultry Teresa de la P.).
Your Gregorian moanings
(For you my jazz chords seasoned boleros drain off).
Our intertwined bodies.
Those “I love you” amidst our gentle (giant?) battle.
The world has become imperceptible for us, baby.
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