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Charles Baudelaire |
ALTHOUGH your wicked brows
Give you a strange air, Anything angelic by the way, Witch of eyes insinuantes, I adore you, frivolous oh mine, Oh my terrible passion! As the priest to the idol, With intimate devotion. Aroman your rude braids The floresta and the desert; Your front the attitude keeps Of the enigma and of the secret. As around a censer, Your meat the perfume is about; You charm as the night, Burning and dark nymph. ah, doesn't equal your laziness neither the most violent filters! You know the caress that he/she makes revive the deads! Your hips fall in love Of your breast and your backs, And with languid postures, The cushions love. Sometimes, to calm down Your mysterious madness, With graveness you lavish me The kiss and the bite. You hurt me, my moraine, With a jeer laugh, And in my heart later You pose a to look of moon. Under satin chapín, Under of your foot sedeño, I put all my happiness, And my destination, and my genius. My soul for you cured, for you, color and my light explosion of heat in my somber Liberia! |
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