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.