I Want To Do To You What

The Truth Is In The Prolouge. Death To The Romantic Fool., The Expert In Solitary Confinement.

Each In The Most Hidden Sack Kept The Lost Jewels Of Memory, Intense Love, Secret Nights And Permanent Kisses, The Fragment Of Public Or Private Happiness. A Few, The Wolves, Collected Thighs, Other Men Loved The Dawn Scratching Mountain Ranges Or Ice Floes, Locomotives, Numbers. For Me Happiness Was To Share Singing, Praising, Cursing, Crying With A Thousand Eyes. I Ask Forgiveness For My Bad Ways: My Life Had No Use On Earth.

We Bear The Sole, Relentless Tenderness.

Como Se Reparten El Sol En El Naranjo Las Naranjas? How Do The Oranges Divide Up Sunlight In The Orange Tree?

What Does Autumn Go On Paying For With So Much Yellow Money?