Today I dare to conquer you.
While I define which form is suitable,
a carnivorous sea hinders me in desires.
I want to roll you with sighs, maybe they're merengue, until I get to kiss all your storms.
I will syrup quails, I will bathe them in your lake of passionate caramel until sweetening your ears.
I will aromatize your dawns with an intense taste of night and turmeric dissolved in a seductive glass.
I will varnish every window of heat on your cheeks, until the temperature of your lips rises.
I'll knead one by one your words,
I want to melt them in chocolate and temper them to the blow of a cloud as a witness.
I will beat them until I see consistency in our bodies.
I will roast to golden illusions, achieve an external glow with the help of embers and cook liberties.
I will cremate the heavy silence helped by lightning, embracing two souls in tempest.
I'm prey to my recipes.
I feel they claim me, ironically prepared.
Such scenes are repeated like a voracious feast.
To ignore them would be a sin:
The renunciation of an exotic dish seasoned with saffron.