Cymbidium Odentoglossum

Infiel

And I took her to the river

believe that was a maiden,

but had a husband.

Santiago was the night of

almost and commitment.

The lanterns

and went on crickets.

In the last corners

touched her sleeping breasts

and opened to me suddenly

as spikes of hyacinth.

The starch of her petticoat

sounded in my ear,

as a piece of silk

rent by ten knives.

without silver light on their foliage

trees have grown

and a horizon of dogs

barked very far from river.

Past the blackberries,

reeds and thorns,

under his mop of hair

made a hole in the earth.

I took off my tie.

She took off her dress.

I belt with the revolver.

She, her four bodices.

Nor nard nor
shells

have skin so fine,

or glass with silver

shine with such brilliance.

Her thighs slipped away from me

like startled fish,

half full of fire,

half full of cold.

That night I ran

the best of roads,

mounted on a nacre mare

without bridle stirrups.

I do not mean a man,

the things she told me.

The light of understanding

me more discreet.

sand and kisses Dirty

I took her river.

fought with the air

the swords of the iris.

I behaved like who I am.

like a gypsy.

gave a sewing The

large satin straw

and did not want to fall in love

because having husband

told me was a maiden

when the river was carrying.