I wanted to be wrapped in your dreams,
In your heat and fever I wanted to warm.
The ink of the night fell on the ground,
The gypsy moon prophesies at your palm.
You were gone arrogant in the air, oh, moon.
Being an earth the magic the wind'd cry.
My birds are flying merry-go- round sadly
It is impossible to live sitting on the sky.
I am staring around, my tongue burnt.
I am lusting for beautiful moments, nice.
I would make a white plate for my hair,
From the cotton produced by your eyes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem