plazos de su pasado, consistió en la extraña, Y retorcida y desquiciada, Y yo odio que poco juego que había pedido..

Your past-times, consisted of the strange, And twisted and deranged, And I love that little game you had called, Crying lightning, And how you like to aggravate the ice-cream man on rainy afternoons.  The next time that I caught my own reflection, It was on its way to meet you, Thinking of excuses to postpone. You never look like yourself from the side, But your profile did not hide, The fact you knew I was approaching your throne.  With folded arms you occupy the bench like toothache Saw them, puff your chest out like you never lost a war. And though I try so not to suffer the indignity of a reaction There was no cracks to grasp or gaps to claw.