I have fear of the night;
hours are so long and so big my bed ...
times only dream of you aware,
but not when I sleep.
And waking suddenly
stretched to you hand and do not find you.
You go back to my mind,
and your absence is fear,
your quiet solitude.
How good is the angle of the thighs open
what the double curves of hips and breasts,
if you just show a shadow in the shade,
if you only imprison my mind and my desire?
I do not want myself
as thou shouldst,
lacks voice and breath to my hand,
and ritual of rubbing silky, unexpected or new,
missing your sweats, you groan,
the mystery of what so many times you have created in my flesh,
and seems ever so present, so unprecedented.
When I wake up and we are orphaned and you lack,
when the hunger for sex in tremors shake me, and yells lusts,
afraid I have to do,
because it is never more honda, saddest, most painful,
loneliness gripped me then, I curls, bubbles in my night,
as if only you were a mirror image.
