I hunger for your mouth, your voice, your skin,
And through the streets I slide without nutrition,
Silent, without a bite of bread, dawn disquieting me within,
I search the liquid sound of your feet at day’s fruition.

I’m hungry for your voice’s slippery laughter,
For your sunburned hands’ colored clasp,
I hunger for the pale shade of your stony nails, and after
Want to eat your skin as a ripe, sunburned almond’s rasp.

I want to engorge the sunburned rays of your beauty,
Your sovereign nose, up to your arrogant face,
I want to eat the slumberous slip of your lashes…

And hungrily I go to and fro, sniffing the shadows,
In search of you, to make your hot heart race.
I’m a cougar in the quiet of Quitratúe.