At night, when I don't understand why your sleep is being ruined,
when my notes are protected by a clip,
the one that the moon and silence lent me.
At night, when your magic is slipping in your mouth,
when my spirit is seeking refuge, as if insane,
from the sighs that want to come out of you.
When you sleep.
I feel jealous
of not being the master of the moaning from your mouth,
I feel jealous
of the torment that the night inflcts on you, jealous.
I feel jealous of the cloth wthat wraps you up,
I feel jealous, jealous.
Irremediably jealous,
those who tell me when they all know not much,
those who point out my troubles with pinches,
the enemies of the poetry that I have written.
When you sleep.
It's your look that sweeps over my suffering,
it's my look that suffers that pain in me,
in which your eyes are dark for me.
When you sleep.
I feel jealous
of not being the master of the moaning from your mouth,
I feel jealous
of the torment that the night inflcts on you, jealous.
I feel jealous of the cloth wthat wraps you up,
I feel jealous, jealous.
When you sleep.
IJealous
of not being the master of the moaning from your mouth,
I feel jealous
of the torment that the night inflcts on you, jealous.
I feel jealous of the cloth wthat wraps you up,
I feel jealous, jealous of the corner of your mouth,
of the rub of your clothes.
Irremediably jealous.
Irremediably jealous.