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love poem

homme froid sévère
ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
donnez-moi
elle doit retourner, elle a dit
ils ont jeté une pierre, vous ont jeté une pierre
laissez-moi se déplacer lentement par la rue
remuez
pourrions nous mais savoir
dans le port de New York
robuste, humble-abeille de somnoler
à minuit
j'ai vu qu'un dieu vous doutent de lui?
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement

 



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