Mil quilates

Less blue and more darkness to pure colorless water,
the hard cock frozen in the chest,
I don't want kisses when the shooting starts,
the creaking of bed springs when
they want to gallop,
it's a sonnet and melody and true poetry,
and not nonsense of the wind,

give me brown and take away whites of snow and whitewash
I make my trigger shine to dance
and keep the caresses for your dead
who won't know if the cypresses turn green or the
coral darkens,
if the months of wanting to get up will redden,
from the pink of the damn stories,

they are chameleons dressed as sheep
the treacherous eyes that tangle skeins
stealing colors from the hearts of those who let themselves be
but not from ours,
which beats calmly knowing that hundreds of scorpions
come out behind their leaves
taking care that it's always in bloom,

I soak in the gray that is older and will never ask for forgiveness,
the old copper dazzles me more than the sun,
so worn out are the clothes it wears,
and to distill with the fists of the still the walls
of this sea
and keep the essence, which is patience to walk
smoke coming out of the balls,
they are chameleons dressed as sheep
the treacherous eyes that tangle skeins
stealing colors from the hearts of those who let themselves be
but not from ours,
which beats calmly knowing that hundreds of scorpions
come out behind their leaves
taking care that it's always in bloom

if waking up is a thousand carats of blessed glory,
it's better to dream of me mending withered sails,
I'm already tired of rowing, companion solitude,
from your door to mine.