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erotic poetry

à minuit
comme des aigles sur la haute haute
la dame, votre coeur s'est tournée vers la poussière
aucune proie ne suis moi des pensées faibles
je suis vieux et aveugle
quand j'étais un garçon à l'université
remuez
peut-être ce n'est aucune matière que vous êtes morte
les longs couloirs de marbre resounding
beau
mais je ne puis pas vous lire maintenant
voyez l'expérimental
il parle pas bien

 



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