You boy, are so full of secrets;
triangle-like wrinkles in your jeans,
such a magnet for a rocker-eyed girl like me,
through dirty sonnets my ego bleeds.
Anaconda snakes go round my heart,
and your sander skin tears the matches
as mines inside my pores scattered,
setting third-degree burns to my thoughts.
Fuck off, darling, this is not a game,
I'm not your museum's porn star,
to your blind desire I went and came...
And, as I can't uncover your codes,
don't you dare and build up that fire door
capable to stop this lethal explode.
Versión en inglés de este soneto, mi preferido.