O, hey, man who has burned my lips with the sparking flames of kisses. Have you seen anything in the depth of my two silent eyes of the secret of this madness? Do you have any idea that, in my heart, I hid a dream of your love? Do you have any idea that of this hidden love, I had a raging fire on my soul? They have said that the woman is a mad woman who gives kisses freely from her lips. Yes, but from your lips bestow life on my dead lips. May the thought of reputation never be in my head. This is I who seek you for satisfaction in this way. I crave a solitude and your embrace. I crave a solitude and the lips of a cup. An opportunity far from the eyes of others to pour you a goblet from the wine of life. A bed I want of red roses so that one night I may give you intoxication. O, hey, man who has burned my lips with the flames of kisses. This is a book without conclusion, and you have read only a brief page.
Awake from caresses, I still feel your embrace running through my body. Shaken and tenuous I go on walking in your image. So deep with instincts was my simple reclamation. From me fled hours of robust will, and left my sensation humble of reasons. I didn’t know about ages nor rigid reflections. I was life, beloved! The life that passed through the song of the bird and artery of the tree. Other softer notes I could have made flow, but my fertile desire knew no shortcuts. I clung to the crazy hour, and my wild leaves bent over you. I freed myself to the purity of a love without garments that carried my life from the unreal to the human, and I was to see all of myself in a scream of tears, in remembrance of the birds. I did not know how to guard myself against invincible currents. I was life, beloved! The life that in you strayed from its course, to give itself to my arms.
One day I will go to dance with you To a far away place, where no laws exist, nor reasons govern Where the water is breeze, where the bird is flower Where everything pure and natural is confused with the grace of God In a place clean of convention Sterile to the mundane embrace that threatens your luck Fertile to everything spontaneous, to the rain, to love There, in total nudity Rid of the elegant trappings of fine formalism Used by human lackeys to pompously cover the scars of last nights orgies We shall dance the dance of life To the rhythm of a fire of light, that will burst from the sun – Julia DeBurgos