And I, who just wanted
to get drunk from
the curve of her hips
during a warm summer day.

A starving man,
hoping to get a taste
of the forbidden fruit,
a holy delight.

I, who refused to believe in any God,
because only her could be
the deity I would worship,
day and night,
in life and death;
the mother of beauty, the cause of my weakness.

Just to be drowned
under all the sins I committed,
and the ones I paid, despite my innocence.
I, who died on the cold stone,
before I could kneel in front
of my very own reason to live.