His tongue slips
in my body, slowly
as a punishment for my self
as a sign of life
His way of going to me, as yours
tomándome their hands, giving me
the most varied pleasures
His mouth always hot and humid
my faithful refuge protuberances
I think that there’s anything spiritual;
that love, if not this, what is it?
beyond words
loves facts
She is for me more than you think
rather than their tastes and ideas
She is what makes me feel
pleasure that I provide
and this, if there is something in it that I love,
is what we always love.