With the simile of the cloud
That is pushed over the earth
To empty all its entrails,
So, I hope you come
To the side of my bed
And make my meager creek
Green again.
Just as the Amazon River is born
From a drop,
May the torrent
Of your Art Nouveau flowers invade
Both sides of my pillow.
I know that the pororoca
That my river provokes
Will make me jump without anxieties.
And what I long for is to go
Downhill between rocks,
Between steep slopes,
Walk the tangled basin
Of life and come undone
In the warm waters of your sea.
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