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erotic poetry

se déclenchant vers le haut, tombant vers le bas
a arqué l'inondation
voyez, ils retournent
son visage est juste et lisse et bon
le roulement triste du tambour insonorisé a le battement
le merriment sans fin et idiot des étoiles
c'est l'arsenal
mélancolie, bleu il était
améliorez que le granit
tous apaisent le long du potomac
dernier minuit
ce qui nous fera maintenant
cette cuvette argentée antique du mien
elle doit retourner, elle a dit

 



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