The Night is Young

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Chatterbox.
Your lips brushed my ear
That was ten years ago…
his right arm was in a cast.
As a girl would to a boy.

He came across a love-letter
And each of us drank
his sugar…
No, Marc’s the love of my life.
The ripcord.

An infection.
that was deep down inside him,
A kind of hemophilia of tears…
Transmitted by caresses.
Yet, that’s when you leave.

Do your ventriloquist act.
On my back.
You threw sentences like knives
At the sea.
that glues us to each other,

love story,
caused by the comet,
“Never” is a word for children.
in sepulchral voices,
black lost, who saw it?

the something syndrome,
Because you have blue eyes
They’re mayflies, short-lived…
sentimental. With me,
who make love without love.

Every morning, concrete in my gut…
The grass is black,
that burns fast…
envelops everything…
from the foot of the bed,

We did something irreparable…
Like a wave that always breaks in mid-ocean,
We’ll have to stitch that.
with hundreds of beds,
you’ve read and re-read,

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