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type of poetry

dans ma main je me tiens
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
l'amour a été chanté mille manières
dites-moi
éliminer, luttant vainly
tranquillement, avec le reverance, dans la crainte
nous avons aucune honte?
bien que repine d'amour, et frottement de raison
peu de porte a été atteinte enfin
pourquoi si triste mon bel?
l'aube était vert pomme
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
il est venu me prendre par la main

 



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