She`s unlettered, she`s selfish , she`s a myth!
In nude words her gorgeous unnatural is whirled,
She is easy unbounded like a shroud and only then
Sadness yells in folk songs with hunted lions` roars.
And raw, hopes dash on the paper, limited and narrow.

I pick stumbled ideas on the road
dismembered here and there in words,
crushed in images wired with thorns.
They venture in mud and water alike.
And through the dirty teeth it chews me with lust.
Then, all of me, I wake up, vaporize and cry myself on your cheek.
While you take me in your palm, to wipe me out, i, naively kiss you...
A short circuit of silence has happened...My lions have been turned off.

Happiness, the virgin of silence will trace hidden natures
through enormous jungles and erroneous translations.
But I will smile, maybe, towards silence.
I will be watched tenderly simple, from a corner,
from the night with dismembered ideas.
From the other part of the silence will tremble sacredly, the day.
She will tremble with fear of the unpicked ideas
And the dawn will light, or not, my meaning.