The moonbeam grabbed you by your thatch,
melting within you its craters, its mystic thrill…
How did you linger throughout these ages
without your fangs feasting on the voluptous thighs?
Look at the sunset while you shudder,
the sun will crush your eyelids
with its claws of mercy.
The thirst of blood won’t let you breathe
the brisk scent of the mountains,
but the rocks will remain your temples
and in your nights you’ll hunt for daybreaks.
No longer you’re a fiend!
The wind of wisdom ringed up his curtain,
leaving the butterflies to lick the wounds
of your last absolute huntings.
All is briefed by how you sink your fangs
into the weakness of your chase
and by how the chase turns its flesh to you.