I became a fruit on a branch,
A rock in the palm of a child!
her talisman, her miracles might get me an asylum;
The way I am destructing myself.
Your luminous fibers of high and tall
Hover in front of my scenery like atlantal clouds.
From the ambush of the vagrant birds back into your presence,
Feel me before intoxicating me in your eyes;
Please treat me like we have not much time left,
For the headsman hands are tireless and forever in command.
Who says that I am the last fire hearted saint on earth?
I am that monstrous beautiful creature, standing in the middle of the night, drowned and perplexed with the purity of the seven seas, and the mischievous naughtiness in his eyes, wishing to have an star's place in the skies.
