Don't like

Thoughts late fire,
All the smokes for the rest, please:
Take it from the hands of time.
I wipe the dawn of the tart.
That fall, with the fate of the constellations.
Nothing cards to guess.
Simply bustaname pain
Frozen...a letter to write...
And may the ink of hope,
These runes fierce to put out,
Will help in the search of dreams.
Sensual wine to drink,
The gentle touching...fire
Still burns me...
I beg you with time palms,
Take remorse... don't like...