3070 As shells of a bivalve

The forgetfulness will come
In a green carpet,
Purple or of mescal.

And with my own hands
It will be stopped
In the customs of desire
Where minutely
It will be seized
The green lustful palms
That afternoon of February
The turquoise one and the indigo
Of the wide sea,
It will be detained the sadness
That you had to my encounter,
The whisper of your waves,
The blizzard of my soul
That sidereal day
That it moved as wave
In the nonpareil afternoon,
When our bodies
As shells
Of a bivalve we unite
With our chests
Wide open.