This afternoon,
When the brilliant sun falls
On this clear summer sky,
I will eat from your hand
The flakes of pleasure
That you will have consubstantiated.
All day I will be agitated
As by an earthquake
Or a violent wind
Glimpsing the moment
In which you cross my aura
Like the flash produced
By the Tunguska bolide.
May your fire devastate the mass
Of my clandestine dreams
And your crucible purifies
The traces engraved
On the undulations of my path.
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