Neither the heart cut by a piece of glass br in a wasteland of thorns br nor the atrocious waters seen in the corners br of certain houses, waters like eyelids and eyes br can capture your waist in my hands br when my heart lifts its oaks br towards your unbreakable thread of snow. br br Nocturnal sugar, spirit br of the crowns, br ransomed br human blood, your kisses br send into exile br and a stroke of water, with remnants of the sea, br neats on the silences that wait for you br surrounding the worn chairs, wearing out doors. br br Nights with bright spindles, br divided, material, nothing br but voice, nothing but br naked every day. br br Over your breasts of motionless current, br over your legs of firmness and water, br over the permanence and the pride br of your naked hair br I want to be, my love, now that the tears are br thrown br into the raucous baskets where they accumulate, br I want to be, my love, alone with a syllable br of mangled silver, alone with a tip br of your breast of snow.