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I don't want to make you tremble, I want to make you burn,
to awaken in your chest the fire that sleeps,
to drag my hands through the embers of your soul,
with each touch ignite the flames that emerge.
I want to make your breath catch in whispers,
I want the air to be filled with longing and love,
I want the touch of my lips to be a river
that flows in your body, swirls of pains.
Let the fire consume us in the night,
let passion envelop us like a cloak,
let the burning of bodies be our waste,
and in the burning desire, let us lose the charm.
I want your skin to feel the warmth of the instant,
that each caress be a song of delirium,
towards life, towards exuberant love,
living in the present, leaving a well-deserved respite.
I don't want to make you tremble, I want to make you burn,
and even if the ashtray ends in soft ashes,
there will remain in each spark the trace of pleasure,
our history lit, eternal among the birds.
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