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erotic poetry

la noblesse de la mort encore
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
le pré rampait
fait longtemps polir la lumière du soleil d'été
maintenant tandis que mes lèvres vivent
pour venir tellement bientôt à ceci a imaginé l'obscurité
il aurait même sa plaisanterie
pourquoi
parmi la fumée et le brouillard d'un après-midi de décembre
à l'amoureux passionné
nos moments plaisants volent
je les ai offerts tout l'adieu
si j'avais su l'étroit une prison est amour
dans le port de New York

 



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