Eighteen

Dear Mama,
I met a girl,
from a street in Paraná,
She wears flowers on her curl.

The moon was hanging low,
I followed little footprints on the sand.
Her red lipstick glow,
I was less human.

She turned down my sight,
and turned on my sense.
I had nothing to fight,
only a girl to dance.

I lost counts,
when her skin next to mine.
She's dirty little cunt,
with sweat as sweet as wine.

Two bodies became one,
uncovered.
Two hearts intertwined,
unbounded.

As the sun wove color,
she has never been seen.
Mama, I fell for her,
but the girl is only eighteen.