Entre tus tetas

Today I thought about making you a chant and
Fantastic sounded the idea at first
I decided to collect all
The roses from the path
Light them up like paper
Use the sea as ink
Imagine your skin

Even though you truly deserve
The whole damn nature the hustle of your hips
Deserve flora and fauna of the sphere
And not just a song
But all the damn records
From this freaking record label
Confessed thief of those kisses
Of romance and the guilty one
Of you reaching that
Unattainable trance
That today I talk about that's not the point
But about moaning so damn good
Today the bed 4 legs
It's obvious, it's obvious to you
My tongue sailing between your legs
Just like smoke floats
From our pores springs more than sweat, passion
It's the honor of seeing you love, from the south
And between your boobs

I'm guilty that I talk to myself that way
I'm the owner
Of the area of your hips
Student of your body
Craftsman of your wood
And you my green area in spring (repeat)

It's almost a pact with the devil
To kiss you in hell
On the threshold of your bed
The angels cover themselves so they don't see us
Their sick ritual
Fill you up more than notebooks
And find the exact spot
With touch on the fingers
Mommy I'm the guardian
Of your wings
The corruptor of your life
The rider of your hair
And your middle ground
My dead end alley
If possible I'll be fair
When you play with me
Impossible to be sober
If I get drunk on your sweat
Impossible to live if your lust suffocates me
Impossible to be peaceful
Inside your lake
Terrorist of your beach
Shut up and listen
How the dogs howl
Before I fuck you
As the moon clears up
My heart stops
And screams at me
To slit your throat with kisses
We talk little and to the point
The walls are your arms
And your kisses like a brushstroke
And from this I'm born
I can see you whenever I want
Because your voice fills
My dry canteen
When you choke with smoke
I'm the soldier in your war
And you my bitch when it emerges
Those desires to devour each other
Make love to you
My best muse when I write

I'm guilty
That I talk to myself that way
I'm the owner
Of the area of your hips
Student of your body
Craftsman of your wood
And you my green area in spring