Dryness of the deserts
I feel on my thirsty lips,
A dusty taste inserts
In my throat its grips.

The verb in prison,
Careless,
Behind the apple poison,
Loveless.

Desperately
My cries,
Talking sadly
Through my eyes,

Don’t speak my heart
Still bleeding,
Wounded like an infarct
That painful morning.

However, My hand Will never, ever dare!
Hit you my rock.
From the fountain of sin, I swear!
Not a drop, I will suck.