Glorious days of the Arrunching lovers

Lyrics

of garden and poem

from the poet-figure who

exhales your color, which

from the pain

sighs

my rosy *Mandinga*

and grasps your old charm

that arrives, drawing near to the

supreme good and

fortune

shameless woman

who in her breasts

burns—like Cupid entering

into your frozen,

infernal utterance:

my acidic tropical probability

Pre-chorus

A swoon over coffee

like a tropical tryst

all night long

your astral essence

Chorus

You alone, my one and only tropical-hued love

let not the honey-creature stand in our way

of the bewitched third:

possessed by you.