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sex poem

je dédaigne mes amis davantage que vous
laissez-moi se déplacer lentement par la rue
ombres étendues le long de broadway
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
qui appellera le vent
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
au-dessus d'elles toutes, regardant vers le bas
les jours hypocrites
à ce qui une femme la comparera aimée
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
calme en tant que que deuxième été
la foudre a clignoté, et s'est soulevée

 



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