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. . .

The reign of his words, jokes

foaming in the wings of a frafalla

his foul mouth that pierces the sound of poetry and

language aside, his color, which destroys the silence of view.
The slow hiss of salt this entry

descends from the most remote, ivory soul ade

What joy!

Eager carefree!

this happiness that shakes hands

and the desire to reduce to nothing

and meat drowning in your memory.

But beauty,

The beauty of your mad dash has never gone

anz'essa steal all the night was

in the dark and laugh at the time.

Or we went to

me.

you,

beautiful flower of the first tree.

on the column of Thebes built your home

rooftops of Paris reminds us of our passion

or my little joy!