Lying down
with thighs like open wings
ready for flight, you tempt me,
you invite me to travel through milky ways
and black holes, slightly revealed
by your hand that plays,
by modesty and sweat drying
between petals of flesh, the stigma
of your barest flower
soaking everything,
flying through universes of liquor.
Wet flames,
the lips that with your fingers
delicately betrayed, dilated for me,
showing me, obscene, the miracle cave
through where the liquid lightning of life flows,
incandescent fountain, creamy lava,
splashes of deep water that floods,
soaking everything,
flying through universes of liquor.
My mouth,
kissing your burning lips,
prepares to drink from your chalice of pollen and liquor
and, among juices and hums of waves and wings,
libidinously sipping the nectar
of the flower of your tides,
licking the salty honey that flows from you
and burns my tongue that trembles,
lecherously, between sap and saliva,
soaking everything,
flying through universes of liquor.
My wings
of wax, beating, fighting your fire
in waves of ardent foams and feathers,
and Icarus flying so high, so high
that, about to enter the garden of Eden,
his flight melted by your spilling sun,
he falls, like the exterminated angel,
into the sea of the shipwrecked,
soaking everything,
flying through universes of liquor.