In those nights of intimacy. 

She calls me Luis, In those nights of lunacy.

The daylight of motherly night, was the beauty of her ways.

The daughter of fragile dreams, was the question blown in haze.

Playing a game of compromise of shadows bewildered our eyes.

Testimony to the sadness reflection of those compared in sigh.

She calls to me, Luis... In those nights of discrepancy.

Showing me what happiness is and taking it without hiss.

Like the knight of those times, whose pride exclude him from bliss.

Thro
ugh the footsteps of longing, preparing for the venture discreet.

I stagger as she opens her door, like the tenderness of her heartbeat.

She calls to me, Luis... In those nights of secrecy.

Trusting in my companionship, but not my love. . .

With no regret, still I know, the nature of this dove . . .

For in nights she called me Luis, I witnessed my soul.

In her spellbound portrait, of a zeal within me, forevermore.

So she calls to me. . .

Luis. . .?