2422 As if were arabic horses

I am not requesting
That Sathya Sai Baba materialize
Objects that mitigate
My utopist incredulity,
Neither I request that the Messiah
Return unbeaten and victorious
In his nimbus full of glory
And his arm possessed of majesty.
What I want is that your caresses
Ride for my cheeks
As if were arabic horses.
I want
That your hands and lips gallop
The most secret corners
Of my being.
Every time
That in the surface of my body
Falls a drop of time
I feel that its expansive wave
It withers me, it gives in me.
I feel myself like Hiroshima
In august five of the forty five,
I feel myself like Mexico City
In September of the eighty five.
Woe, woe, woe
How has been let lonely
The populous city,
I want
That your hands gallop
My cheeks
As if were arabic horses
I want
That your hands and lips gallop
The most secret corners
Of my being.