Requiem of a Butterfly
Floating tomb of thousand loves,
smooth mackerel of your blow,
To whom this prison sentence belongs?
so humble and dry,
to rabid foam in the air
To whom crosses on the threshold?
extasis of liquidate mortal,
it bathed in playful stars
In a festival of San Juan.
Of whom is?, of whom is not?
scented wings with the death
and a hand bound in the lust,
Punish me, oh mister!
I've been betraied for the colors
and I to be violated by tremblings,
They have murdered me!
and I've not had feelings of grief...
Oh, love of my loves!
you carry me in your fine wings
that without knowing where the wind receives you,
my lips to be yours.
did not write but love
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