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sorry poem

ma mère me tortille des roses humides avec la rosée
démontré dans la lueur vacillante dans vos yeux
de la chanson et du rêve pour jamais allé
l'odeur du s'est levée si faux, les épines si vraies
les bateaux se situent dans le compartiment
pour la vérité, pour l'amour
peu de parc que je traverse
êtes vous éveillé?
le maître des destins humains suis moi
il est venu me prendre par la main

 



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