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sex poem

lŕ par la fenętre dans la vieille maison
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
maintenant que je me suis refroidi ŕ vous
si j'avais su l'étroit une prison est amour
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
ville qui n'est pas une ville
dites-moi
ce qui je vous doivent
oiseaux contre le vent d'avril
exprimons nos passions plus basses
c'est le bateau de la perle

 



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