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lost love poem

plantons
un mille derrière
bougies se renversant en longueur dans des bidons de tomate
n'accrochez aucune guirlande
l'aube était vert pomme
l'obscurité roule vers le haut
qui est le coureur dans les cieux
quand un contrat est fait pour la liberté
vers l'arrière, tournez vers l'arrière
homme froid sévère
la femme a beaucoup manqué, comment vous appelez à moi, appel à moi

 



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