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dans des vos bras était le plaisir immobile
les nuances de la nuit tombaient rapidement
qui aime la pluie
un orage monte sur la marée
ce qui nous fera maintenant
si le tueur rouge pensent il massacre
tandis que je tenais l'écoute, discrètement sourde-muette
un ciel qui n'a jamais connu le soleil, la lune ou les étoiles
quand le voile des yeux est soulevé
une ombre grise mince sur le bord de la pensée

 



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