El Último Quijote

I want to keep
Throwing food on the ground,
To ask you like a fish
For the tiniest of your crumbs.

I don’t want water, I just want your saliva,
Like the desert wants the sea.
I’d like to give you my charge when I dive.

I want to fight
Against the arms of the windmill,
Against the wind and without fear
Until I find you on the road.

I don’t want air, I just want your sigh,
Like a madman wants reason.
I’d like to give you some meaning.

And if the seasoning isn’t moist,
I’ll have the excuse to cry,
To ask for your chest like a child
Until I find the spring.

And walk and walk
From your feet to your neck,
Like a troubadour walks,
And walk and walk
Like the last Quixote did,
Spending the night in your lungs,
And walking and walking, I’d repeat once more
This lesson in anatomy.

I want to feel
The little space between your arms,
Your lung and my lung
Like the doors of a palace.

And even if your skin, like my skin, isn’t satin,
The comforter isn’t needed,
As long as the clothes always burn on the mattress.

Chorus