Sore Throat With Red Spots. No Fever. Fatigue.

Not without my heels .... LIVING A DREAM

In the solitude of this sad Sunday
is perhaps your absence, or maybe my boredom,
waters run down the street in decline
rain and the breeze caressing my face
from this window ...
where my heart dies in a dream that lives ... perhaps have
sun if you're me.

Here I am on the sheets of this bed
lonely where you desire.
I see my body in the mirror ...
my body is hungry for your kiss territory,
which is full of desire in your unbridled passion
you fight battles on
in long nights and sweats
kisses inner caves.

I see my smiling
breast caress the soft palms of your hands,
that
mimas and smooth as a small bird their cages, while a flower

turn against your flesh beautiful
in the bed of your arms forward.

this sad Sunday, stems from what is mine ... and this loneliness
the worst punishment.
the evening calls for a little sun ...
sun perhaps would if you were with me tonight
and would blatantly dumb, naive
the modesty of my naked body.

enlazaré into my arms I love sensual,

put out my burning thirst, crazy ...

and admire next to mine, your beautiful nakedness.