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poem

mélancolie, bleu il était
le mouvement de votre corps est comme la musique
je réside à la montagne de table
souffleur de verre de temps
ils peuvent parler de l'amour dans une petite maison
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
comment sauvage, comment sorcière-comme étrange qui la vie devrait être
quand les mer-vents ont percé nos solitudes
je suis le vent qui hésite
ne restez pas plus
il y a d'un que ce I par le passé a aimé tellement
ce qui était lui les moteurs dits

 



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