My conscience wants me to write about you and an ocean and the war between, 

Perhaps because I have seen the waves became translucent every time I have desired you like a bee in a desert. 

My ocean doesn’t want me to sleep with my love, 

An edifice of flying emotions and cravings for your sexual rage. 

But that gargantuan moving liquid jukebox exploits me, spoils me and make me sink inside him to find that sacred topaz. 

I won’t allow that next time when you will show me your shape and your careless creation to the invisible erections. 

I guess a midday lullaby would be enough to build that last coffin. 

But he is infinite my love, his arms and legs are build through this galaxy, his spirit makes this sun travel through time.

Would that walnut box be enough to show him the inhospitability of darkness? 

I guess a blink of your eyes will do,

You see infinity starts with nothing and touches everything. 

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