In Italian, raw, intense and passionate: In the tempest of my fervor's dance,Your rapacious throat holds sway,Echoes rise with fervent chants,In this fervid, wild ballet.Testifying to each thrust's ascent,Upon pleasure's ravenous feast,A delirium ecstatic, eloquent,In which our passions are released.Through swirling depths we fiercely go,As siren calls serenade the night,In rhythmic pulses, high and low,We merge in the flooding, fateful light. |

In Italian style, our passions ignite,
In the tempest’s fervid dance we’re drawn,
Your rapacious throat, with primal might,
Echoes rise, where desire is born.

Each thrust ascends, a wild ascent,
On pleasure’s feast we ravenously dine,
A delirium, ecstatic and eloquent,
Where passions meet, fierce and divine.

Through swirling depths, relentless we soar,
Siren calls serenade the night’s embrace,
In rhythmic pulses that bind and implore,
We merge in light’s transcendent grace.

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In Italian style, our passions ignite, In the tempest’s fervid dance we’re drawn, Your rapacious throat, with primal might, Echoes rise, where desire is born. Each thrust ascends, a wild ascent, On pleasure’s feast we ravenously dine, A delirium, ecstatic and eloquent, Where passions meet, fierce and divine. Through swirling depths, relentless we soar, Siren calls serenade the night’s embrace, In rhythmic pulses that bind and implore, We merge in light’s transcendent grace.

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