Look how the moon mistakes itself for me
at night, in my absence, in kissing your lips?
...
O Muse who does not yield
when I try to plant a kiss
on your pale, pink lips
My tongue becomes a forked
...
O Muse
I do not know
if you control me
sitting astride of me
...
Your 'long walk to freedom'
has ended.
'Scourge of small cords'
laid to rest.
...