La Lectrice


Separated, we’re separated.
shining, gleaming

She doesn’t answer but she’s there.
on another island,

The florists felt
They both suffered and did not speak.

with only jewels sonorous
The body relaxes.

In love…
My eyes hurt.

some needles for a treat
and she did not pull away.

there are unsatisfied desires.
the necessary basis of being

It’s worn, almost transparent..
When I finished caressing it

My voice did not tremble or weaken.
becomes violent and irresistible.

drugs are sold,
to disarm the mother.

Life is bitter
like a circus pony

I have a lovely voice.
It’s anywhere, nowhere.

Come closer.
I could hardly breathe.

to plunge my fingers
into this charming stream.

and let herself be loved

A single tear
she will be my wife.

And drown in alcohol.
to spill his seed.

Facing all dangers.
Aloud in my bedroom.

The front is untouched.
I held it gently, almost religiously.

runs down her sorrowful face.

A solitary widower.

You like my tongue.
which invited tenderness.

put a hand on her breasts.
The vivid thought of the hair

Leaving her wholly abandoned.
This worn dress kills me.

that sorrow is not
decorated with little paste jewels.

It’s poetry. And yet…
It’s a dress I remember.

forgetting lights
With my eyes closed,

Just imagine,
I’ve thought of nothing but you

the too sad, the all-alone…
that silk takes on with age.

It penetrates as far…
believe me.

You can read in the stars,
Or their lips.

As for your mouth…
is mingled with light

there are unsatisfied desires.
nature of superfluous things,

It’s a tragedy.
I’m afraid of hearing my own voice.

An ambulance…
With strange eyes and chattering teeth

used it to slit the girl’s blouse,
Spring, damp earth.

which gushed from a rocky crevice
around your little finger.

put his tongue in the hole,
a small pool in the middle

between clipped thujas and yews,
The knife disappeared,

In three words.
I was sparkling.

At once, the tress unwound,

I can barely hear his breath.
As he moved in her.

A sentence like that kills me.
and wipes out his traces

Lights out.
Dead in his bed

It’s like a boat, a voyage.
and horror of darkness


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